


(It only took) Five Months

by shetlandowl



Series: It takes time [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Professors, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Steve Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-04 01:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10980789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shetlandowl/pseuds/shetlandowl
Summary: He's a cool cat, this Steve Rogers. He has layers, like an onion.





	1. Prelude

_October 2016_

“Steve, I love your passion, I love your drive—you know I do,” Peggy hedged gently through the phone, “but do you really think you have the time for an academic position right now?”

“I just wrapped Melbourne and Munich, it’s the first clean pause I’ve had in years,” Steve reminded her, but Peggy didn’t seem convinced. 

“And isn’t the Gates Foundation trying to rope you into a project?”

Steve groaned at the thought, and he gave his bowl of cookie dough an extra hard coup le of turns with his spatula for good measure. “I’ve got another year at least. I just want,” he abruptly cut himself off to collect his thoughts, then tried again. “I’m tired of bouncing around the damn planet. I want… damnit, I want a kitchen that I see more than four weeks in the year, a—a dog, Peggy. Maybe someone to share them with.”

“There are a lot of people out there who’d love to share a dog and a kitchen with you, Steve,” she agreed in a gentle tone. “But you don’t have to give up your career to do it.”

“I’m not giving up anything, Peggy,” he muttered, if petulantly. He eyed the chocolate chip cookie dough, then the oven that had been pre-heating, and it didn’t take him long to make up his mind. He shut the oven off and dug out a spoon, and instead of baking the dough he carried the bowl out to the living room. 

“You love creating, Steve. You love bringing art into the world, you always have,” Peggy said with a smile in her voice. “The opposite of war isn’t peace, it’s creation, remember?“

“How dare you quote Rent at me?” Steve grumbled indignantly, swallowing another spoonful of cookie dough. “It’s not like I couldn’t go back to it if I wanted to, or negotiate for the right to work on my private contracts in addition to my academic post. But I’m ready for a change, Peggy. It’s just… it’s so lonely, you know? Being everywhere and nowhere all the time.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she conceded after an extended silence. “Just make sure they don’t get ownership of your work. They will try; don’t you think they won’t!” she warned, finally voicing what seemed to have been her main concern all along. “Anything they want you to sign, send it to me first, understood?”

“Thank you, Peggy,” Steve smiled and mumbled around yet another mouthful of cookie dough. “I promise I won’t settle; they won’t own me or my work. I think I’m at a point in my career where I’m worth that risk.”

“Steve, you have competing offers from Harvard and MIT,” Peggy drawled in a monotone that spoke volumes about how much she disapproved of his obvious understatement. “Harvard’s signing bonus was basically a blank check. I think they’d name a building after you if you’d only ask.”

“Aw, Peggy,” Steve grinned, trying not to laugh. “You know I’d have them name it after you, anyway.”

“Knowing you, you’d have them name it after Tony Stark.”

The playful humor and ease of conversation suddenly left Steve, and he stared down into his bowl of half-finished cookie dough. He poked at a particularly chocolatey lump with his spoon, then he shoveled the whole bite into his mouth. 

“Steve?”

“Fury brought him up today,” Steve confessed without preamble. “We had lunch, again. Fury said he would be returning from sabbatical the same week I’d be joining the faculty, if I choose MIT... That he’s a highly collaborative and interdisciplinary scholar; that if anyone would be able and interested in helping me improve as an architect, it’d be him. I could have a chance to work with Tony Stark, Peggy: _the_ Tony Stark!”

“Poor Harvard,” Peggy suddenly laughed with a feigned pout. “They never stood a chance. Sounds to me like you’ve already made up your mind,” she then eventually noted without judgement. “So, you selling your place in Brooklyn?”

“Maybe,” he said quietly, glancing around his living room even as he polished off another big spoonful of cookie dough. Then, with more confidence, he added, “But I will be getting a place in Boston, if that’s what you mean.”

“I’m only a phone call away,” Peggy reminded him, gentle yet firm. “Anything smell fishy, give them to me. I will tear them apart.”

“I love you, too, Peggy,” Steve grinned, both proud and pleased. “Think I’d rather invite you up for a friendly, non-combative visit to my new place, though, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Pity.”


	2. First Month

_Tuesday, Jan. 3rd 2017_

“My pleasure. It’s a pleasure to meet—no,” he frowned into the mirror and rolled his eyes at his own reflection, “it’s an _honor_ to meet you. Your work inspired me early on, and showed me how architecture allows us to adapt to changes in the world and save lives—”

An alarm sounded on his phone to remind him he only had an hour left before he had to report to HR. He had already gotten the thumbs up from Peggy on his outfit—she’d helped him pick it out over Skype the day before. First impressions were important and Steve needed to get it right. There were many architects whose work he had gravitated to as inspirational to his own interests, and many more still whom he admired. But most of his idols were now retired or dead, and the chance to have a standing partnership with one of the few people he desperately wanted to learn from was too important to leave to improvisation. 

He grabbed his satchel, his lunch bag, his jacket, and he was almost out of his apartment before he remembered to double back and grab his wallet and keys. The walk to campus was barely twenty minutes, and with an hour to spare he took the scenic route through the older streets, stopping in at a mom and pop deli to pick up a coffee on the way. By the time he got to campus, he was still early, so he took a spin around the Rogers building where he would soon have an office. 

“What’s it like working in a building with your name on it?” 

Steve blinked up at the building and looked around himself until he slowly spun to see the tall, blonde woman directly behind him. 

“Dr. Carter,” he said with a cautious smile, as if he wasn’t entirely sure he got the name right. 

“Sharon, please,” she said with a little grin. “Dr. Carter is my mother.”

Steve smiled easily in return, and he shifted his bags around to shake her hand. “Sharon, it’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise feels like an understatement,” she answered with an easy little shrug, and with slow steps she came a little closer to him. “Let me guess, you're on your way to HR?”

“Well, yes, but I,” Steve started to say, but a glance or two around them confirmed his sudden realization that he wasn’t sure where they were in relation to anything else on campus. “I actually don’t know where… how do I get there? I only know how to get here from the T.”

“I’ll walk you,” she offered, and he accepted her suggestion with a big smile. “On one condition! It’s very important.”

“I… will try?” 

“Give me the play by play of Fury versus Harvard,” she whispered in a sudden, gleeful rush. “Don’t spare a detail!”

That was one of the last deals Steve had expected to hear, and he burst out laughing. “Every detail? I don’t know if we’ll have enough time,” he eventually managed, making an exaggerated show of mulling over whether such a feat was possible. “Is HR in Jersey?”

*** 

The way to HR was full of twists and turns and stairs, but in the end, it wasn’t that long. Steve had been so busy recounting all the ways Fury had turned polite platitudes into expletives on the way there, that now, when it was time to find his way back across campus to the Rogers building, he wasn’t quite sure where he was or what direction he was supposed to face. 

When he pulled out his phone, it was helpful enough to tell him he was due east by southeast of where he needed to be, but not helpful enough to lead him through campus as opposed to around it. 

“So much for advancements in technology,” Steve muttered to himself and dug around in his satchel for the welcome package he had just been given. He had seen a map in there—a number of them, in fact, with varying detail, and once the map was in hand he started out with renewed satisfaction and purpose towards his future home away from home. 

Except, twenty minutes later he walked up to a fountain and a fork in the road that were not reflected on the map. He took a more critical look around himself before frowning down at the map again, betrayed. Eventually, and with far less excitement than before, he realized that if he turned the map over in his hands the world would make sense again. Now he was south by southwest of where he needed to be. 

The next time he realized he was lost, he had found the women’s field hockey team practicing where the map told him a dining hall should have been. He rotated where he stood until he spied the dining hall somewhere off to his right. Unless he had once again held the map upside down, that cafeteria was the midway point between where he stood and where he needed to be.

He marched in its direction, his long legs making short work of the distance. He glanced around himself constantly—to the left, to the right—to confirm his surroundings against the map, and it was in one of those brief moments when he had his nose down that he collided with another body. 

On instinct he reached out for the other person to steady him or her, but the large eruption of piping hot coffee between them caught him before he could offer any help and he withdrew his hands in a defensive reflex. 

He was halfway through his first apology when he realized who was standing in front of him. 

The world came crashing down around his ears, and while Tony Stark all but shouted at him in shock, in pain, and in anger, Steve was good for absolutely nothing. He might as well have been trying to recite the dictionary for all the sense he made. 

In a single moment of clarity, he remembered something about nurses available on campus being listed somewhere in that damn handbook, but by then it was too late. Tony Stark was already scowling at him with disgust, and in case Steve had ever thought it couldn’t get worse than that, the man whom he had only ever wanted to impress called him an asshole and walked away. 

Steve stood there, rooted to the paved pathway, and stared after Tony Stark as the man disappeared into the distance and the crowd. 

***

> **SGR SENT @ 14:44 > **  
>  I fucked up

> **SGR SENT @ 14:45 > **  
>  I fucked up. What am i even doing at mit

> **SGR SENT @ 14:45 > **  
>  I should’ve gone to harvard what am i doing here they’ll eat me alive

> **RECEIVED FROM PEG @ 14:48 > **  
>  What’s wrong?

> **SGR SENT @ 14:49 > **  
>  I ran into Tony Stark Peggy

> **RECEIVED FROM PEG @ 14:50 > **  
>  Was that meant to be funny? ‘Oh no Peggy this is terrible, everything is going right, woe is me’?

> **SGR SENT @ 14:50 > **  
>  NO. PEGGY I RAN INTO HIM

> **SGR SENT @ 14:51 > **  
>  Peg he was carrying coffee I’m pretty sure he’s got second degree burns

> **SGR SENT @ 14:51 > **  
>  oh god what have i done

> **RECEIVED FROM PEG @ 14:52 > **  
>  Damn.

> **RECEIVED FROM PEG @ 14:52 > **  
>  Where are you now? Call me

> **SGR SENT @ 14:52 > **  
>  Negative. Can’t. Hiding in my office they can’t know I’m in here

> **RECEIVED FROM PEG @ 14:53 > **  
>  Well, it’s a good thing you’re not dramatic. 

> **SGR SENT @ 14:53 > **  
>  Why do I ever tell you anything

> **SGR SENT @ 14:54 > **  
>  Sam help

> **RECEIVED FROM SAM @ 14:55 > **  
>  ???? Already? Isn’t this your first day?

> **SGR SENT @ 14:56 > **  
>  Ran into Tony Stark with coffee and he called me an asshole and he may have really bad burns what do I do 

> **RECEIVED FROM SAM @ 14:56 > **  
>  Is it too late to go to Harvard?

> **RECEIVED FROM SAM @ 14:56 > **  
>  We don’t do that kind of shit at UCLA man, that’s why everyone’s on a juice diet. It doesn’t burn when you spill.

> **RECEIVED FROM SAM @ 14:57 > **  
>  Steve, lecture’s about to start, I gotta go. If he’s still at his office, it isn’t a bad injury so if he’s there just go apologize.

> **RECEIVED FROM SAM @ 14:57 > **  
>  DO NOT LET IT FESTER. Academics are insecure as shit and good at holding grudges.

Steve frowned a little at the comment about insecurity, and then stole a few guilty glances around himself. Maybe hiding under his desk in his darkened office with all the curtains pulled hadn’t been his brightest moment.

***

It didn’t take long to find Tony Stark’s office number, but it took much, much too long to revise and practice his introduction speech. An hour later, he dared to open his office door and step out into the hallway. 

“Hey, Steve!” Jane called from her office with a friendly wave. “Finding everything okay?”

“Uh,” he articulated as best as he could, trying to think of anything but the truth. “Slowly but surely. We met already, didn’t we? Dr. Foster?”

“We did! Call me Jane. And, you know, if you get lost. Neighbors gotta watch out for one another,” she explained with a sympathetic smile, and Steve couldn’t help but smile easily in return. “Everyone gets lost on their first day, I think it’s a rite of passage. Even I got lost my first week, and I’d already been with the Physics department for years.”

He stepped out of the hallway until he could lean comfortably against the door frame of her office while they talked. “You… switched departments?”

“I’m a double—well, a courtesy appointment here, I teach some classes on practical designs—how to design spaces in different contexts. I ask students questions like how to build a hotel underwater, or a skyscraper on Mars, or…” 

At the first mention of Mars, Steve beamed with such obvious excitement that Jane stopped talking at once and rolled her chair across from where she had been working at her computer to the white board. Armed with a two differently colored dry erase markers she turned to him with a whole new current of excitement. 

“Want to work through it together?” she asked in a rush, “we can do something else—I heard about your building in Nigeria; maybe for you the question of heat and atmospheric pressure—”

“I… but, there’s no oxygen there,” Steve said slowly, not sure if that was absolutely obvious or if he’d somehow missed some enormous scientific discovery while he’d lived in no-name villages in central Africa. 

“And that’s part of the problem! Along with gravity, density of the surface—” she abruptly cut herself off and stopped scribbling madly on the board as if just realizing what she was doing. Slowly she turned to face him again, and a little abashed and definitely blushing, she gave a little shrug. “Sorry, I—I love this one. A lot. But, you know, it requires some foundational physics, too.”

“Maybe you could recommend some introductory classes?” Steve asked to Jane’s obvious surprise, and her whole expression lit up with a smile. 

“Yeah! Yeah, of course—I’m starting an introduction to astrophysics class, it’s—it’s not the same thing, but, you know, you’re welcome to join me. I’ll send you the syllabus?”

He stepped back from the doorway with a big grin. “Thanks, Jane. Hey, um, how do I get to the …eastern stairs?”

“If you take the next right, then the first left, you’ll see them to your left. If you get to Tony’s office, you’ve gone too far. Though… I don’t know if you remember, but he wasn’t here when you first visited. I know he’s in today,” she added almost as an afterthought. “You might want to stop by and say hello, he’s—he’s really nice, so long as the wifi works.”

“Oh,” Steve said as casually as he could with his heart suddenly beating a military tattoo against his sternum. “Um, yeah. I, I—you know, why not? I think I will do that. Say hi, I mean. Thanks, Jane, see you later!”

*** 

Tony Stark’s office was straight ahead when he turned the second corner, and, to Steve’s relief, his door was open. With Sam’s words echoing in his thoughts, Steve thanked whatever deity paying attention that he hadn’t managed to hospitalize a living legend on his first day. 

It was in the midst of these feelings of glad relief and gratitude that Steve caught sight of movement in Tony’s office, and he came to an immediate halt. A few careful steps forward confirmed his suspicion: he could clearly see a pair of legs in black tights pressed against the desk, serving as counter balance and anchor for the person rummaging for something out of sight behind Tony’s desk. 

Steve tried for a moment to guess what the student might be after (test answers in a drawer in the desk, a wallet out of a bag), but in the end it was irrelevant. In four quick strides, Steve reached the doorway, intentionally drawing himself up to his full height and adjusting his posture to fill the door frame. But any plans he might have had about what to do or what to say stuttered to a standstill when Steve caught himself being distracted by the generous curve of the young man’s ass and the prominent outline of his strong thighs in the skin-tight Spandex. 

Clearly, an embodiment of the cheating jock stereotype. A very fine jock.

“Hey! Get out of there,” Steve snapped, pissed to have such a cliche play out at an institution like MIT. The young man jerked in alarm at Steve’s words, banging his head against the desk with a solid _thud_ , and really, the sound of the injury would have been enough to make Steve somewhat sympathetic, had he not caught the student rooting in Tony Stark’s private office. 

“What are you—”

Except the young man standing up inside Tony Stark’s office happened to be Tony Stark himself. An angry, displeased, and unimpressed Tony Stark who glared back at Steve’s best drowning fish impersonation with contempt while rubbing at where his head had connected with the desk. 

“Oh,” Steve choked out breathlessly—not because in his carelessness he had burned his idol, or because he had shouted at him, or because both of these events happened within hours of each other, but because despite all of his blunders Steve was now struggling to keep his eyes where they needed to be. 

“I—oh, _fuck_ ,” Steve started to explain himself, but his words grew increasingly shaky and aimless as his anxieties rushed to the surface. “I am so—I, I thought you were a student.”

“You,” Tony Stark replied with a frown, and Steve saw the recognition dawning on his expression. “Aren’t you the guy from the park, with the coffee?”

“I—I’m, fuck—yes,” Steve stammered, and it was really unfair how he could feel his blush rising in his cheeks and clawing up the back of his neck. He ducked his head and bit down on his lip, desperately trying to will his blush away, because even with all of his years, with all of his celebrated experiences and accomplishments, he had never felt smaller in his life. 

“I was trying to read the campus map, I’m so sorry—” 

“Yeah, you said that. I told you to shut up about it,” Tony reminded him. “What do you want?” 

“I wanted to introduce myself,” Steve quietly said when he finally found the right words, except every time he tried to explain himself he only seemed to make it worse. “I didn’t mean to—I thought you were a student, bent over—I mean, a student trying to get into your desk. You looked …younger.” 

“Oh, goody,” Tony drawled. “So, who are you?” 

“Steve,” Steve stuttered in reply, and he stepped forward in an instinctive gesture to offer his hand for a handshake. It was the best opening he could have asked for, and he valiantly tried to recall his practiced introduction now that he had his one golden chance. “Steve Rogers. It’s a pleasure to, to make your acquaintance on, uh ...on purpose.” 

Tony looked him up and down, and Steve’s blush returned with a vengeance. He could feel himself being weighed and measured, but if this was his first handshake with Tony Stark, then damnit, he was going to do it right. At the risk of appearing naive in his optimism, he didn’t pull his hand back, waiting patiently to see if Tony might voluntarily accept it. 

Eventually, Tony reached across to firmly shake Steve’s hand. 

“Of course you are,” he muttered. “Welcome to Boston, Rogers. Welcome to MIT.”

***

The large frozen water bottle was a soothing pressure against the curve of his neck even an hour into his hot yoga class. After all the misfortunes and non-events of the day, it was all he could do to lie there on his mat in the dark, hot humidity, and reflect on his day. The quiet rustle of clothes and towels as students around him shifted from one pose to another completed the meditative peace he found there. Their soft expressions of exertion and deep, purposeful breathing became a nearly hypnotic backdrop for Bucky’s patient, steady guidance through the hatha flow.

At some point in the latter half of the class, Natasha gracefully - silently - folded herself at the foot of his mat, and cupped his heels in each of her hands with an unhurried confidence. She took her time with the adjustment of his feet, his calves, to his lower back, then steadily moved up his body to work through his arms and posture. When she finally came to the top of his mat, she cupped his head in her hands for some time, pressing into different knots and muscles to work through the tension. 

When Steve next came to, he first became aware of the smell of lavender, a blunt, comforting pressure against the base of his skull, and two large hands wrapped around the top of his feet. 

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky whispered, “time to get up, buddy.”

Steve only groaned in response, needing an embarrassing amount of time and assistance to get upright again. 

“Sam called,” Natasha told him later over some tea in the studio lounge. “Did you take his advice?” 

“I did, I talked to Tony Stark,” Steve mumbled into his tea half-heartedly. “Just, you know, after I accused him of robbery and told him his—his body looked younger than his face.” 

Bucky face-palmed and slowly shook his head, but next to him, Natasha perked up. 

“When you say his body looked younger…” she prompted, but Steve only hid his face in his hands and whined in embarrassment. 

“His ass,” he confessed, because at this point he had no dignity left to lose. “He was fresh from a run and he was wearing these black tights that made his legs look lean and firm and so—” 

“Stevie, I love you, but stop it right there,” Bucky interrupted him for both their sakes. “You’ve worshipped the work this guy does for the past decade. Don't you think this might be… I don't know, your head playing tricks on you?” 

“Buck, you don't—I didn't know it was him! And you know how I feel about legs—” 

Bucky groaned to himself, despairing, while Natasha instead grinned like a wolf and asked, “Did you jerk off in your office on your first day?” 

“I wish,” Steve muttered, though his blush and his expression made it clear he was mortified. “I sat there forever trying to work, but I just wanted—I wanted… I wanted him. He's all I can think about, and, and you know, I looked up the latest on his work in Shanghai; it's the most intuitive—he makes things like he can see the future, like he knows how people will eventually use his work, and—” 

“Stevie,” Bucky interrupted, firm but sympathetic. “It's a crush. A professional crush. We’ll go out Friday, find you someone to take your mind off this guy—”

“But,” Steve heard himself ask, “what if I don't want to take my mind off this guy?” 

“You're _colleagues_ , Steve,” Bucky reminded him. “And he is the golden child of your field. I get that you have lots to fall back on, but do you really need all that in your life? At best you'd have the constant pressure of being Tony Stark’s boytoy, or, at worst, nobody would work with you again. Is he worth that kind of risk?”


	3. Second Month

_Thursday, Feb. 9 2017_

“Let me get this straight,” Jane interrupted Steve’s excited and rather involved description of the project he wanted Jane to join with him. “You want me to help you?”

The pause lingered between them, until Steve, who was politely waiting for Jane to continue, eventually nodded in agreement.

“You want me, to help you,” she repeated, enunciating slowly and with great care, “create plausible alien citiscapes and story-board different locations for the next Star Trek?”

Steve waited a beat to be sure that was all Jane wanted to say before nodding again. When she only stared back at him (and Steve was fairly convinced she had neglected to blink in the past minute or three), he started clarifying the scope of the project. “I’ve only agreed to the TV show, but Alex—I think John kicked up a lot of talk—”

“John? John who?”

“Knoll? He, uh—he got in touch with me through my friend Sam for Rogue One; Sam’s at UCLA, he’s been a consultant for films and TV before—”

“Rogue One?”

“Yes, except when it turned to architecture he introduced John to me; and, since we both enjoy poker—”

Jane’s long stare was quickly becoming disconcerting, and she didn’t even blink when she echoed him in her disbelief.

“Poker.”

“Sam invited us both over for one of his regular poker nights. We chatted, and John’s been—it wasn’t even anything official, I just—we just talked, but, um, it seems to have been helpful? Anyway,” he dismissed this with a casual wave of his hand. “Long story short, from my conversations with Alex, I suspect he wants me officially onboard with Star _Trek_ , so there might an offer for the next movie—”

“No,” Jane interrupted again, this time holding both her hands up in the universal signal for Steve to slow down. “No. No, wait. No, you— _you_ are asking _me_ , if I want to help _you_... not just create buildings, but worlds?”

“Yes,” Steve answered as evenly as he could, trying his best not to laugh at Jane’s continued surprise; he cleared his throat, fumbling with his water bottle for a drink to cover his smile before he continued. “Look, even the little reading on astrophysics I’ve done to catch up with your class has been so helpful, Jane, and that was just an introduction—with your help, my designs could be theoretically plausible. I can’t do that alone, or at least without a clear understanding of astrophysics. And we would have free reins on this: they’ll send us descriptions of where they will be, we’ll sketch something out and mail it back to them. Split the contract 50/50?”

“No—wait now, you listen to me,” she answered with a sudden flash of excitement, “Steve, I don’t need money, but you get me on the bridge—”

This time Steve’s laughter burst out of him faster than he could suppress it, and his instinctive knee-slap nearly cost him his water bottle. “Oh, god,” he choked out finally, “yes! Yes, of course we can visit the set—”

“I get to sit _in_ the Captain’s chair—”

“In a Command uniform,” Steve promised, still grinning broadly.

With a sudden, ecstatic outburst of excitement, Jane pushed away from her desk and punched the air repeatedly with both fists; Steve wasn’t quite sure what she was cheering until she finally slapped her hands down on the desktop and looked him dead in the eye.

“When do we start?”

Before Steve could answer, there was a gentle knock on the door. Jane and Steve both looked up to see a young man in black skinny jeans and a silver-grey Henley standing in the doorway. He held a mallet-shaped steel hammer in each hand, each intricately carved and one twice the size of the other.

“Hey, Jane, Steve,” he said with a crooked grin, then with a more pointed look at Jane he held up the hammers and added, “are these good?”

“They look great, Pietro—leave them on the couch, would you?” she answered with a smile. “And thank Tony for me, the kid’s going to love them.”

“You sure?” Pietro drawled in feigned skepticism. “His head’s already pretty… you know. Enormous.”

“I’ll risk it,” she answered with a laugh, then, before Pietro got too far away, she called after him to shut the door behind him.

Once they had some privacy again, Steve, who had been looking at the hammers resting neatly against the arm of Jane’s office couch, asked, “Dr. Stark got you ...hammers?”

Jane hummed quietly at first, but soon nodded in the affirmative. “My partner volunteers as a Big Brother; he and his little brother are going in matching Thor ‘God of Thunder’ costumes for next Halloween. When Tony heard of it, he offered to make their armor and hammers for them.”

“Are—he what?” Steve blurted out before he really had a chance to reconsider his sudden awe and surprise. “He can—he _made_ —”

Eventually he gave up on stammering and instead gestured to the hammers. The more he looked at them, the more difficult it became to school his expression into anything approaching neutral; the thought of Tony, a trained architect and engineer actually putting his hands on those hammers, having the skill and power and dexterity to make something so detailed and precise was enough to get Steve’s heart pumping. With studious care, he reached out and traced a finger over the sweeping runes and celtic designs carved into the metal.

“Oh, Steve. You should give up on being impressed by Tony,” Jane laughed, albeit kindly. “Otherwise you’ll never have time for anything else.”

Incidentally, this wasn’t the first time Steve had heard that particular piece of advice, and the familiarity of it was enough to have him rolling his eyes at himself. “Would if I could,” he told her, straightening up in his seat again and rolling one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. There was nothing for it but to be honest. “But it’s—his work has always been so... so inspiring. I didn’t even know he could do this, but his research, his designs are just—and every time he does anything he’s changing the world for the better. How can I not feel impressed, you know? How could I not be amazed?”

Jane watched him with a new question in her eyes that Steve didn't want to think too much about, so he quickly clamped up before he started throwing around dangerous words like “apical” or “transcendent” or “nubile.”

“Want me to give you a call when he finishes the armor?” Jane asked casually enough, and the question was so unexpected Steve relaxed in his seat again. “You’re almost my partner’s size, we could use you as a model.”

“Yes!” Steve responded so fast he almost forgot to breathe. “Really? Your partner won’t mind? I—Christ, that’s like every kid’s dream, who doesn’t want to wear _armor?_ Any time outside of lectures, I’ll do it; I’ll hold my office hours in armor if I have to,” he promised, and Jane burst out laughing.

***

> **JANE SENT @ 12:11 > **  
>  B, what are your thoughts on Steve Rogers?

> **RECEIVED FROM BRUCIEBRUCE @ 12:13 > **  
>  That’s not a loaded question.

> **JANE SENT @ 12:13 > **  
>  I’m serious. This is serious. Tony serious.

> **RECEIVED FROM BRUCIEBRUCE @ 12:14 > **  
>  Serious isn’t a synonym for clarity.

> **JANE SENT @ 12:15 > **  
>  Are you being obstinate on purpose?

> **RECEIVED FROM BRUCIEBRUCE @ 12:15 > **  
>  Who types obstinate in a text?

> **JANE SENT @ 12:15 > **  
>  Steve likes Tony.

> **RECEIVED FROM BRUCIEBRUCE @ 12:16 > **  
>  I’m not less confused

> **JANE SENT @ 12:16 > **  
>  He tried to cover it with that water bottle but come on. You could see it from Ceres!

> **RECEIVED FROM BRUCIEBRUCE @ 12:18 > **  
>  You’re speaking in planets nobody recognizes again

> **RECEIVED FROM BRUCIEBRUCE @ 12:19 > **  
>  You think Steve wants to work with Tony?

> **RECEIVED FROM BRUCIEBRUCE @ 12:19 > **  
>  I mean we already knew Fury dangled Tony to Steve, so it’s not a surprise right?

> **JANE SENT @ 12:21 > **  
>  OBSTINATE.

> **RECEIVED FROM BRUCIEBRUCE @ 12:21 > **  
>  I’m really not

> **JANE SENT @ 12:22 > **  
>  Think covalent bond, not ionic bond

> **JANE SENT @ 12:22 > **  
>  He wants him like H wants Cl.

> **JANE SENT @ 12:23 > **  
>  Like C wants H4 only if they were four Tonys.

> **RECEIVED FROM BRUCIEBRUCE @ 12:26 > **  
> 

> **RECEIVED FROM BRUCIEBRUCE @ 12:26 > **  
>  Gross, Jane. You don’t have to be so graphic about it.

> **RECEIVED FROM BRUCIEBRUCE @ 12:26 > **  
>  How am I going to sleep tonight? Four Tonys?

> **RECEIVED FROM BRUCIEBRUCE @ 12:27 > **  
>  Only people who don’t work with him can laugh about that

> **JANE SENT @ 12:28 > **  
>  WHAT WOULD STEVE DO WITH FOUR TONYS.

> **RECEIVED FROM BRUCIEBRUCE @ 12:31 > **  
>  OK this conversation is getting out of hand.

> **JANE SENT @ 12:33 > **  
>  Oh yeah. I guess he does have two hands.

> **RECEIVED FROM BRUCIEBRUCE @ 12:34 > **  
> 

> **RECEIVED FROM BRUCIEBRUCE @ 12:34 > **  
>  Damn you, Jane. I’m the one who has to look him in the face every day.

> **JANE SENT @ 12:35 > **  
>  So you’d know better than anyone how badly Tony could use anything else in his life that isn’t work, right?

> **RECEIVED FROM BRUCIEBRUCE @ 12:36 > **  
>  OK. Point taken.

> **RECEIVED FROM BRUCIEBRUCE @ 12:36 > **  
>  I’m listening.

> **JANE SENT @ 12:38 > **  
>  Let’s grease their gears.

> **RECEIVED FROM BRUCIEBRUCE @ 12:40 > **  
>  I hate you.

***

> **SGR SENT @ 12:16 > **  
>  I screwed up.

> **SGR SENT @ 12:16 > **  
>  I think the cat’s out of the bag.

> **RECEIVED FROM JBB @ 12:22 > **  
>  Put it back.

> **SGR SENT @ 12:22 > **  
>  I’m not sure it works like that Buck.

> **SGR SENT @ 12:23 > **  
>  He came up in conversation. Our mutual friend knows.

> **RECEIVED FROM JBB @ 12:24 > **  
>  Are you kidding me? You told him/her?

> **SGR SENT @ 12:25 > **  
>  I didn’t TELL HER but idk. Her expression? I think she knows.

> **SGR SENT @ 12:25 > **  
>  What do I do?

> **RECEIVED FROM JBB @ 12:25 > **  
>  How exactly would she know?

> **SGR SENT @ 12:26 > **  
>  Have you met me?

> **RECEIVED FROM JBB @ 12:26 > **  
>  FFS Stevie. Can’t take you anywhere.

> **RECEIVED FROM JBB @ 12:41 > **  
>  N says we’ll talk about it. Dinner next Friday 6pm, El Pelon. Don’t be late.

***

_Monday, Feb. 13 2017_

“Steve, you know, Deb and I were both very pleased to hear the news of your relocation to Boston,” the Governor said again with a broad smile. “Serendipitous, given the circumstances.”

“Charlie, I just moved here,” Steve reminded him, and a muscle in his jaw twitched with the effort to be polite about it. “You have gifted architects here; some of the best in New England—”

“And we will be working with them,” Debbie assured him, “you will oversee and consult—”

“With all due respect, I haven’t agreed to do anything,” Steve told them both in measured words. It took considerate effort, but he made a point not to look away from them even as he channeled his rising frustration toward his posture, the food in front of him, the wine within reach. “My home is still in Brooklyn, and in Munich. I didn’t come to Boston to work on independent contracts, I came here to join the MIT faculty.”

“Working with the State would be beneficial to both parties,” Governor Baker reasoned despite Steve’s explanation, and finally Steve had to stop a passing waiter to order a scotch, neat. “It would be a tax break for the school, and the Capitol could become a landmark.”

It was a struggle not to sigh like he meant it, or roll his eyes. Baker had been making the same points using different words for the last thirty minutes, and it really was a pity Steve didn’t have Monday classes to teach. He tried to look like he was paying attention, he genuinely did; he put a smile on his face and shifted in his seat, letting his shoulders roll back so that he sat up at his full height. After several years on and off in southern Germany, he didn’t have to look to know how to find the strands of tagliatelle with his fork; how to let the tines rest against the curve of the plate, how to measure out a balanced fork with the a few quick lifts to prevent too much of the pasta from accumulating as he twirled the tagliatelle into tidy nests. 

His mind wandered while Baker rattled on about the benefits and recognition that came with working for the government (as if Steve didn’t already have more of both than he knew what to do with). He really wasn’t looking forward to his dinner plans with Bucky and Nat. They had been so adamant about him getting over Tony Stark, as if Steve didn’t hear what a challenging and invested instructor the man was from passing students every day. As if he didn’t rearrange his office hours so he could spend his coffee break walking around Killian Court half past two every day since that was when Tony was most likely to go for a jog around campus. 

As if he didn’t spend half his time with any design or project wondering how he could allow for better energy conservation. How a space or a surface could be re-purposed—to make it multifunctional, easier to engage with, easier to live with, and easier to adapt over time. How a building might better serve the people with whom it interacted. 

Bucky and Nat might be right about Steve needing to get over Tony Stark as a romantic prospect, but that wouldn’t mean Steve would love the man any less. How could he, when it was Stark’s work that finally made him realize why architecture mattered? Through his research and his designs, it was Stark’s work that first taught Steve how understanding and accomplishing the objective of a structure was a sure road to mediocrity. It was understanding the people, _their_ needs and _their_ objectives that allowed a structure to live with its community, to grow with its needs. 

That didn’t mean they weren’t right about him needing to scale down on how much of his day was spent thinking about Tony Stark, though. Giorgio’s was far enough away from campus that the chances of Steve running into any other MIT folks were slim to none, and yet he swore he could hear Tony’s voice in the general rumble of background noise around him. It was a distinct voice, an energetic, determined voice, and—and he was pretty sure he just heard Jane speaking over him. 

Blinking, he turned his attention away from distant musings and took a real look around the restaurant. He recognized the back of Tony’s head before he even noticed Bruce and Jane; in his relief, he smiled, without thinking how obvious that would make his lack of attention to whatever Baker was rattling on about now. 

“Excuse me,” he started to say, but then the waiter got to the table with his drink. He paused long enough to thank the waiter and make up some excuse for the politicians before getting up from the table and making his way to where his colleagues sat. 

“Hi Steve!” Jane greeted him with a big smile as he approached the table, and he was so happy to see a friendly face he not only smiled back at her: he beamed. 

“Hi Jane,” he grinned, wiping the palms of his hands against the side of his jeans before comfortably resting his hands on his waist. He cleared his throat and tried to maintain his easy smile when he turned to Tony and Bruce, but the warm blush rising up his neck was not helping. “Dr. Stark, Dr. Banner. How are you all doing?”

“Unwinding,” Bruce said after an uncomfortable pause of silence. “It’s been a long day. You’re grabbing lunch with the Governor?”

It was all Steve could do not to roll his eyes. “Oh, yeah,” he smiled and tried to change his posture before did a full-body roll of his eyes. “He’s—they want a consultant for renovations on the Capitol, and they heard I was local. It’s just a courtesy.”

“Ah. Yes, of course,” Bruce replied in a monotone, and inwardly Steve cheered; there weren’t many politicians he had met whom he’d want to meet a second time. He watched Bruce and Tony’s exchange with a naive sort of excitement, as if their willingness to be intimate in his presence somehow meant that he was less of an outsider now, and he was so upset when he heard Jane’s attempt at dismissing him that he nearly missed her question. 

“Oh! Yes!” he answered as soon as his brain clicked on. “I’ve freed up my Tuesday afternoons. Would next week be too soon?”

“Not at all; their next exam isn’t for four weeks,” she promised, “next week we’re talking about Kepler’s laws and motion.”

“I’ll be sure to read up then,” he said with a grin, because really, there were areas of physics in which he had no business dabbling. “There was a moment in my life when I thought I understood the equation for dynamic area velocity, but by the time I got sober I’d lost it.”

Tony Stark turning to look at him was more of a sensation than anything, and Steve knew he made a mistake when he instinctively turned to meet Tony’s eyes when he addressed Steve for the first time in the whole conversation. He heard Tony’s voice several seconds before he ever realized what the man said; his nerves tied themselves up in knots faster than Steve knew how to unknot them, and he could have been sixteen years old again for all the confidence he had. He ducked his head and scrubbed at the back of his head as he stammered and tried to remember how to speak again. 

“I, well, um. Advanced math and physics was intimidating for me,” he confessed in the end, because he didn’t have enough blood in his brain to think of any lies. “At first. I used to need a couple shots before I could start my homework.”

God damn it all, but his eyes were beautiful, and big and kind and honey brown, and they were staring up at him in awe and what did Steve ever do to earn this moment in his life? 

Oh. 

“It takes more than a few shots to get me drunk, but I was less concerned about making mistakes,” he was telling Tony Stark before he could stop himself, and he was high on standing so close to him; he could almost smell him. He had never wanted to run away from the same thing he wished would last forever, but Tony Stark staring up at him within arm’s reach was never a privilege he imagined. Hell, what he wouldn’t do to have that scotch in hand right now; how ironic that he forgot the courage of a little alcohol in a moment when he needed it most. 

“Always good to see you, Steve,” Bruce said in a gentler tone than usual, and Steve took a sharp, deep inhale in his surprise when he looked away from Tony. “If you’re visiting Jane, why don’t you come by our lab sometime? We’re working on fuel cells and building rockets.”

“Building _rockets?_ ” Steve blurted out with the delicate professionalism of a young kid with a baseball bat. 

“Tony’s building the rocket,” Bruce clarified with a sympathetic smile, “and most of the fuel cells. I’m just helping.”

“You’re—wait,” Steve stammered as he tried to pick up pieces of the conversation and not get lost in Tony’s eyes again even as he dared to look down at the man of his dreams, and he couldn’t quite unstick his tongue from the floor fast enough. After a lingering beat of gazing at the man in awe, he finally managed to whisper, “Are you working on a green rocket engine?”

“Hopefully,” Tony replied in a wry tone, “prototype should be ready in two weeks.”

“Damn,” Steve exhaled on a stuttering breath, and immediately his blush returned with a vengeance. Oh, god, what had he done— “—I mean, I, I knew—I’d heard that you were a—”

“Genius?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve agreed in a heartbeat, because genius sounded less romantic than _exceptional_ , _peerless_ , or _a miracle_. 

“I’d love to see what you’re working on,” he admitted a moment later, recalling Bruce’s offer, not that he could look away from Tony yet to acknowledge the other man. 

“Yeah, well. I guess you’re invited now,” Tony reminded him with a shrug. “Don’t wear anything flammable, and close-toed shoes.”

“That last one is mostly in case Tony drops something,” Bruce added, and Steve tried not to think about Tony dropping articles of clothing. 

Steve cleared his throat before his imagination got the better of him, and he quickly nodded his understanding to Bruce. “Got it,” he promised. “It’s good to see you,” he added then to the whole table, smiling again. “I’ll let you get back to your lunch, I’ll catch up with you soon.”

When he got back to his table, Steve tuned out Baker’s ramble about how working for the State would be a shrewd business decision to reconsider his busy schedule and find an hour or two in his day to visit Stark and Banner’s lab.

***

_Friday, Feb. 17 2017_

Creating balanced lesson plans was deceptively complex. By the time Steve had remembered to glance at the clock, mopped up the mess he made when he knocked his cold tea over in surprise, and finally booked it to the parking lot, he was already late for his dinner plans with Bucky and Natasha. He got out of his car just in time to see Bucky open the door to El Pelón and let Natasha and a few other people out. 

“Didn’t think you’d show up,” Natasha noted dryly, then turned a meaningful glance at Bucky. 

“You hungry?” Bucky asked Steve instead. “We can grab something on the way.”

“Why? Where are we—”

“Steve, this is Paloma,” Natasha interrupted him to say, and for the first time Steve noticed that a woman Bucky had held the door open for was still with them. “She’s a middle school drama teacher, but she used to be our pilates instructor, too.”

“Hi,” Steve said, automatically offering to shake her hand, and smiling at her in a way he hoped didn’t betray how he felt about the ambush. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Hi,” she smiled warmly, returning his handshake. “I’ve heard a lot about you; it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“I haven’t let James talk to her about you alone,” Natasha added. “You’re welcome.”

Steve side-eyed his best friend suspiciously, and Bucky simply shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I won’t,” he reminded him. 

Paloma laughed, and it was so infectious Steve couldn’t help but smile, too. “It can’t be that bad,” she said with a confident air, then to Steve’s surprise she made a genuine, kind effort to change the subject. “Natasha said you like art?”

“I—yes, I do,” Steve answered easily, though a little curious. “Are—how did that come up?”

“Stark’s exhibit ends this month at the MFA,” Natasha told him, not even bothering to hide her knowing smirk when Steve’s eyes grew wide with incredulity. “ _Frances_ Stark. You’ll like her.”

“Get in,” Bucky told them before another opinion could be raised on the matter. “I’m driving.”

*** 

“You know how Russian drivers have dash cams?” Steve casually said to Bucky as they strolled along some paces behind Paloma and Natasha through the big display of pottery in the Art of the Americas. Bucky shrugged a shoulder, but otherwise remained non-responsive. “You should consider one; or maybe a black box?”

“Why are you talking to me, Steve?” Bucky wondered without looking away from a display of bowls he couldn’t care less about. When Steve didn’t make any effort to join Natasha and Paloma even a minute later, Bucky finally rolled his eyes and gave him a most unimpressed frown. “ _Go talk to her,_ ” he hissed. 

“I didn’t want— _fine_ ,” Steve grumbled under his breath before stalking away. He spent the short walk over to Natasha and Paloma trying to will himself into a positive attitude by thinking of anything besides his feelings about being ambushed. 

“Steve,” Natasha said when he was within appropriate museum whisper-talk range, “you familiar with Peru?”

He glanced at the ceramics they were standing in front of and couldn’t help a small smile. “The Moche? A little. These are examples of their burial artifacts.”

Paloma stared down at a particularly explicit pair of figurines where a man was pushing a woman’s face down on his unfairly sized erection. “They buried people with ceramic depictions of… of blowjobs?”

“Maybe he really enjoyed them,” Natasha deadpanned, but only Steve grinned in amusement. 

“It depends who you ask,” Steve started to explain. “Their ceramic figures are more detailed and ...well, expressive compared to most other contemporary civilizations. Most scholars will tell you that they are didactic: the young were instructed on everything of value in their civilization through their pottery, from basket weaving to sex.”

Paloma watched him curiously, then glanced down at the ceramics as if to confirm something before asking, “You mean that most archeologists believe blowjobs and anal sex were a high priority for these people?”

“I mean, it is odd that they never depicted vagi—um, reproductive sex,” Steve said a little unevenly, clearing his throat as if it might cover up his fumble. “There’s no doubt the ceramics highlight the importance of reproduction to the Moche, right, but some scholars believe these figurines are actually more telling of how they imagined the afterlife. Their theory is that the Moche thought of death as the inverse of life. Then, if that was true, they argue that burying people with figurines depicting non-reproductive sexual acts could be a way to wish for their loved ones on the other side to be blessed with life, so that they might be happy enough to bless the living.”

“Oh,” Paloma said at last, and even though her smile was small, it was genuine. “That sounds… sweet. Thoughtful; like they’re helping their loved ones in whatever way they can, you know? Cause that must be scary—dying, then suddenly showing up in some vulgar, inverse world.” 

Steve did his best not to let her words affect his posture or his expression. “Vulgar?”

“Maybe not for guys,” Paloma added with a small shrug, and she smiled as if she was only half-serious. “I’m sure it’s great for guys, but when you’re on the receiving end—”

“I often am,” Steve interrupted her in an unimpressed monotone, already annoyed by where that line of thought was going. “I’m bi. I’m versatile. Is that a problem?”

“But you—you,” Paloma stammered and stared at him, wide-eyed, clearly thrown by Steve’s sudden change of tone. “I—um, I’m Catholic.”

“So am I.”

“ _James!_ ” Natasha called in the general direction she’d seen Bucky wandering off in. “Time to move out.”


	4. Third Month (Interlude)

_Sunday, April 23rd 2017_

“Look, Jane, I get it,” Sam assured her, “I love space, you know? Space is great. But it hasn’t been my scene for years. The ocean’s where it’s at.”

“If I didn’t know how great Juliana was, I would be so angry right now,” Jane muttered into her water. “Damn you—I can’t even be angry. I mean, her work on coral reefs alone.”

“Yeah, she’s alright, I guess,” Sam said with a shrug, but it wasn't long before he was laughing.

Sharon joined them in Jane’s cozy conservatory when Sam’s laugh was quieting into a grin; Steve trailed along after her, wiping his hands dry on a dish cloth. “She’s working on water conservation, is that right?”

“Marine ecosystem conservation,” Sam replied with a smile and a nod. “My woman ain’t letting her state go down without a fight.”

“Juli said you found a venue—” Steve started to say, but trailed off abruptly when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He got his hands on it just as the first chords of _Fortunate Son_ started to play, and he excused himself quickly to answer it in another room.

In his absence, Sam, Sharon, and Jane silently exchanged meaningful, pointed looks.

“Delivery guy’s lost,” they heard Steve saying a short time later on his way to the door. “I’ll go meet him at the end of the street.”

The casual atmosphere in the conservatory changed the moment the door shut behind him; time was of the essence.

“What the _hell_ was that interview?” Sam was the first to say. “Is there something going on between him and Stark?”

“He’s a disaster,” Jane groaned at the same time as Sharon rolled her eyes and said, “If only!”

“My sister's co-ed baseball team needed players, and Steve was game,” Sharon started to say, but then quickly seemed to change her mind with a shake of her head. “Long story short: the team started a bet _by the second week_ on when the two of them are getting together. And if I have to listen to him moan about one more botched date—who even are Bucky and Natasha?”

“Our best friends,” Sam told her, though he couldn’t help rolling his eyes in sympathy. “They mean well, but yeah, I don’t know what they’re—”

“—Steve’s taking it pretty personally!” Sharon interrupted him to say, anger starting to creep into her tone. “This last guy they set him up with, Calvin? What were they thinking—the man hadn’t even come out to his family yet. Or Apoorva; they saw each other for two weeks and then she dumped him because her dad doesn’t approve of him.”

“Which makes no sense, who doesn’t love Steve? He’s thoughtful, he’s genuine,” Jane muttered. “He’s really got the worst luck.”

Sharon hummed in agreement, but then gave a small shrug of her shoulders. “You’d think, but he’s not that receptive either,” she said with a long-suffering kind of affection. “You know, we go out for drinks sometimes, but when women—and men—approach him, he just… that door is just shut to the world. He’s not interested.”

“Well, he’s sure interested in _someone_ ,” Sam muttered. “Hell, I was expecting the man to go down on one knee and propose to Tony on live television after all that damn talk.”

Sharon frowned a little as a new thought came to mind, however implausible. “Do you think he knows how obvious he is?”

“They’re both pretty hopeless. Steve already looks at Tony like he invented puppies, but Tony won’t acknowledge it,” Jane muttered in reply, and she glared at her glass of water as if betrayed by its non-existent alcohol content. Then, with sudden energy, she added, “And poor Bruce! Ever since he started his collaboration with Steve on the farming soil and water purification project in Nigeria, he’s been getting passive-aggressive interrogations from the both of them.”

Sam grimaced and shuddered at the thought. “I don’t know him, but man, I don’t envy him.”

“If only there were people they actually listened to,” Sharon commented absently just before the front door opened again.

“Hey, man!” Sam called in response to Steve announcing his return with their kebabs and falafels, then turned to Sharon and Jane in a hurry to whisper: “Peggy. If Steve listens to anyone, it’s Peggy.”

By the time Steve was back in the conservatory with their food and two bags full of extra treats, Sam had shared Peggy’s contact information with Jane and the conversation was back to benign chatter about sleepy beach towns of Southern California.

***

> **JANE SENT @ 18:23 > **  
>  Hi Peggy. We don’t know each other - my name is Jane Foster, I work with Steve at MIT. Sam Wilson gave me your info. This is about Steve and Tony Stark. We need your help.

> **RECEIVED FROM PEGGY C @ 18:47 > **  
>  Are you trying to help Barnes and Romanov?

> **JANE SENT @ 18:52 > **  
>  We’re trying to get them together.

> **RECEIVED FROM PEGGY C @ 18:52 > **  
>  In that case: how can I help you?


	5. Fourth Month

_Friday, May 12 2017_

When the phone rang that night, Steve was so entrenched in grading that he picked up the receiver and answered without any conscious thought.

“This is Steve Rogers.”

“Oh, fuck you,” he heard someone moan, and his body recognized and responded to that deep, frustrated voice before Steve's mind could remind him to whom it belonged. “You’re too perfect for this.”

With an unnaturally careful, steady hand, Steve settled the receiver down on his desk so that there was no way for Tony to overhear him biting down on his fist to muffle his responding whine. Some things he didn’t have to worry about over a phone conversation, but that didn’t mean he could trust his voice in his state.

He thought about his grandmother’s bunions, and that time he got his braces stuck in poor Yadir’s pubic hair; when neither of those proved effective enough, he tried to count the number of times he’d seen Danny DeVito naked on _It’s Always Sunny._

Danny DeVito never let Steve down: he only needed to recall two instances before he dared to pick up the phone again with a steady voice.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Hi,” Tony said, and it almost sounded like he was smiling. “This is Tony, Tony Stark—we don’t talk much and I can be kind of a stiff jerk person but you know me, we’re, um, on the same faculty, you spilled half a gallon of coffee on me on your first day? And you, you publicly said very nice things about me that one time? I sit behind you during our department meetings and you smell like magnolias—well, I mean, some form of …flora, I think, you know, it could be a non-pollenating—you know, no, I’m in jail and I need to be bailed out. Bruce is here too. 4,500 dollars. Each. Hurry, we’re surrounded by Republicans.”

The connection died immediately after that, and Steve was left staring at the receiver in his hand and wondering if he had been hallucinating.

> **SGR SENT @ 21:56 > **  
>  Buck do I smell like magnolias?

> **RECEIVED FROM JBB @ 21:56 > **  
>  Why? In case Tony Stark likes magnolias?

> **SGR SENT @ 21:57 > **  
>  I’m not sure if he just called me or if I was hallucinating

> **SGR SENT @ 21:57 > **  
>  He and Bruce need me to bail them out of jail

> **RECEIVED FROM JBB @ 22:01 > **  
>  You have to what

Steve stared down at the message he had just sent Bucky. Tony Stark was in jail. Somehow that (not to mention the question of _why_ Tony Stark was in jail) was barely of consequence when faced with the overwhelming reality of being the person Tony had turned to for help.

But how the hell do you bail someone out of jail? Google was unhelpful, Tony hadn’t provided any information about _where_ they were, and he knew no-one in Boston that might know better. 

Except, that wasn’t entirely true. 

His phone was already ringing as he shouldered on his jacket and hurried out of his office to run home for his car. 

“Hey Charlie, this is Steve,” he greeted when Baker picked up the phone. “I have a proposition for you.”

*** 

It felt like he had only closed his eyes for a minute when he woke up from a touch on his shoulder. Cautiously, hopefully, he opened his eyes and looked up to see who needed his attention, and every lingering fear of being turned away faded away when he recognized those beautiful brown eyes. 

“Thank god,” he whispered without looking away, as if it might have been a hallucination all along if only he let Tony out of his sight for even a moment. He came to his feet at once and stepped in as close as he dared to assure himself that Tony wasn’t any worse for wear than last week’s faculty meeting. 

“Are you alright?” he asked them both, _or else_ he growled inwardly. “They didn’t bother or, or hurt you, did they?”

“We’re fine,” Bruce told him, interrupting Steve’s angry internal monologue of what he would tell Baker if even one hair was out of place. He shook himself out of the mounting thoughts of vengeance, and instead grabbed for the small bag of food he had thrown together on his way out the door. 

“I thought you might be hungry,” he mumbled as he pulled out two cold bottles of water, and he was pushing aside the frozen packs to grab their sandwiches, too, when a daunting realization suddenly overcame him: he didn’t know if Bruce was vegan or vegetarian. A vindictive blush clawed up to his cheeks as he admitted his embarrassing lack of awareness. “I—I know you’re vegetarian, but I, I didn’t know if you were vegan?”

“I’m not,” Bruce said with a smile, and Steve could breathe again when the man accepted his sandwich. “That’s thoughtful of you, Steve.”

“Don’t mention it,” Steve said, still smiling from not having forgotten something critical in his hurry to get out the door. “Are you free to go? I’m parked right outside.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, and Steve would have sworn the man was swaying on his feet. He squeezed the bag in his hands a little harder to resist the urge to reach out to steady him, and he was just about to head for the door when Bruce sat down in a chair in the waiting area. 

“Called Betty,” he said, as if that explained his actions. “She’s on her way.”

“I don’t mind,” Steve tried to assure him, but Bruce waved him off. 

“Trust me, it’s for the best.”

Beside him, Steve heard Tony huff in amusement. He couldn’t tell what was funny, and he had every intention of telling them how there was no need to drag poor Betty out of bed when he was already there. He did, he really did: the words were on the tip of his tongue, right up until Tony clapped him on his chest. 

For five seconds, nothing mattered but how warm and how firm that casual touch had been. 

“Come on,” Tony was telling him, “let him get his fantasy rescue.”

“Huh?” Steve mumbled eloquently, but his brain caught up almost immediately. “OH! _Oh._ ” He glanced from Tony to Bruce, then back again, unsure of how to navigate such a conversation with them. “Yes, sure, yeah. I’ll see you uh, Monday? Have a good weekend.” 

“I will,” Bruce replied, and Steve didn’t understand how he was so sure of it, but the man seemed content enough to sit and wait where he was, so Steve shrugged it off and wordlessly followed Tony out of the station. The man couldn’t walk in a straight line, and it was a herculean feat not to rush forward and put his arm around Tony’s waist to steady him. Instead, he switched on his car with his key fob so Tony knew where to go, and waited to see him get in without falling over. 

Steve pretended to fiddle with his car and his phone as long as it took for Tony to successfully buckle up. He gave him a few moments to settle in before he offered Tony his phone. “Want to put in your address?”

The enormity of his strategic miscalculations had been lost on Steve until Tony’s soft, half-asleep moans were all that could be heard in the car. Steve glanced across to see if Tony was trying to tell him something just in time to catch Tony’s head listing forward, momentarily unconscious until the sudden movement of his head tipping forward stirred him awake again. Sitting next to him in his sleep-mussed, barely-awake state was torture to have to ignore, and Steve resigned himself to forty minutes of continuously readjusting his seat. His only saving grace was how Tony couldn’t seem to keep his eyes open for more than a minute at a time. 

It wasn’t until they were pulling off the highway, when Steve was almost in the clear—when he would be able to deliver Tony safely and maybe make better use of the frozen packs he’d thrown in for the food—that Tony spoke. 

“Are you for real?” he mumbled into the glass, and Steve jerked out of his own thoughts when he was addressed so unexpectedly. “I can’t figure it out.”

He blinked directly ahead, then chanced a glance in Tony’s direction to meet his eyes. For clarity. “What do you mean?” he eventually managed to ask. 

“You—you’re fucking perfect,” Tony whispered, and Steve nearly laughed right in his face. Something of his disbelief must have shown in his face, though, because Tony didn’t stop there. “You are—everything by your own merits, from some community college and with no network—you understand how unlikely that is? And still you’re—you’re _you_ , you make art come to life and you’re—with your perfect teeth and your spaghetti and your, your pecs and, and—this _sandwich_.”

“I,” Steve stuttered to a start, suddenly overcome with a need to tell Tony in no uncertain terms that his career would be nowhere without Tony, but between Tony’s confusing list of accusations and his obvious sleep deprivation, Steve just couldn’t get the words out. 

He cleared his throat and instead tried to redirect to a more harmless question. “I—is, is the sandwich not—”

“The fucking sandwich is beautiful, Steve!” Tony snapped, and Steve’s eyes were immediately back on the road in the hopes of hiding his fierce blush. “It’s perfect. It should be photographed, not eaten.”

An awkward silence stretched between them until Tony’s mind caught up with his mouth, and he doubled over in the passenger seat, trying to hide his face between his knees. 

“ _Fuck_ fuck fuck,” he groaned in palpable shame. “Can—is there any chance you’ll forget what I just—”

Steve had experienced the same embarrassment enough times in the past four months to know when a rescue was necessary. Instead of acknowledging anything Tony had just said, or trying to offer sympathy, he simply asked, “Tony, when was the last time you slept?”

Tony straightened up in his seat and blinked in thought, either blindsided by Steve’s tone or his question. “We’ve been finishing the rocket, it’s—god, Steve, it _worked_ , it worked so fucking well, just—um, too well?”

“Nobody got hurt,” Steve assured him. “That’s the important thing.”

Tony levelled a flat look at Steve and in a dry, unimpressed tone said, “We shot a seven foot rocket into a billboard fifteen miles from our calculated target.” 

“At what—at full thrust capacity?” 

“Twelve percent,” Tony enunciated emphatically, as if needing Steve to understand the significance of their finding. Except, Steve had no idea what that meant. 

“Okay. You can tell me what that actually means after you’ve slept,” Steve promised, because it seemed like this twelve percent were really important to Tony. He pulled up to Tony’s brownstone and left the car running as he hurried around the car in case Tony was still operating with the balance and grace of a newborn giraffe. 

Steve kept his distance as Tony swayed across the pavement, and his hands were hovering only a foot from Tony’s body while the man inched his way up the stairs. He dropped his keys twice before ever getting the right key into the right hole, and even then Tony couldn’t seem to get the door open. 

“Are you going to be alright?” Steve asked as patiently as he could manage, but Tony only waved him off, staggering with the effort and sudden imbalance. The door finally gave way under the weight of Tony’s shoulder, and Steve never really got an answer to his question before the door was slammed shut in his face. 

He sat and waited in his car long enough to be sure there were no alarming sound or smoke coming from Tony’s building before driving home. 

***

_Saturday, May 13 2017_

> **RECEIVED FROM NAT @ 06:04 > **  
>  J says Stark got arrested? You ok?

> **RECEIVED FROM RBB @ 06:28 > **  
>  Just got home. Thank you again for your help, Steve. See you next week.

> **RECEIVED FROM JNF @ 06:35 > **  
>  OMG Steve! I just heard what happened! 

> **RECEIVED FROM JNF @ 06:35 > **  
>  How the hell did you bail someone out at that time of night? Steve, you’re a miracle.

> **SGR SENT @ 06:36 > **  
>  Friends in low places.

> **RECEIVED FROM JNF @ 06:36 > **  
>  Oh, no. Baker? Steve, they could have survived a night in a cell.

> **SGR SENT @ 06:37 > **  
>  And I can survive making more friends in low places.

> **RECEIVED FROM SAM @ 11:39 > **  
>  ???? What’s this rumor of Stark going to jail?

> **SGR SENT @ 11:47 > **  
>  Who the hell told you?

> **SGR SENT @ 11:47 > **  
>  Bucky? Jane?

> **RECEIVED FROM SAM @ 11:51 > **  
>  Peggy

> **SGR SENT @ 11:56 > **  
>  ……….

> **SGR SENT @ 11:56 > **  
>  How does Peggy know

> **RECEIVED FROM SAM @ 11:58 > **  
>  Sharon

> **SGR SENT @ 12:00 > **  
>  FML

> **RECEIVED FROM SAM @ 12:01 > **  
>  Suck it up buttercup

> **RECEIVED FROM SAM @ 12:01 > **  
>  How’s he doing?

> **SGR SENT @ 12:04 > **  
>  I don’t know. I don’t know if I should ask. 

> **SGR SENT @ 12:04 > **  
>  Would that be too much?

> **RECEIVED FROM SAM @ 12:05 > **  
>  So text him. He can get back later if it’s a bad time.

> **SGR SENT @ 12:06 > **  
>  He’d have given me his number if he wanted me to call. I’ll email him.

> **RECEIVED FROM SAM @ 12:09 > **  
>  +212 522 3243

> **RECEIVED FROM SAM @ 12:09 > **  
>  Stop wasting time, Rogers.

> **SGR SENT @ 12:10 > **  
>  How do you have his number

> **RECEIVED FROM SAM @ 12:11 > **  
>  Jane.

> **SGR SENT @ 12:13 > **  
>  We’re going to have a long conversation about privacy tonight.

> **RECEIVED FROM SAM @ 12:15 > **  
>  All talk no bite, Rogers?

> **SGR SENT @ 12:15 > **  
>  (ง'̀-'́)ง 

***

_This is Steve. Are you okay? I worried—_

Too needy.

_This is Steve. Are you okay? I’m here if you need—_

Too clingy. 

_Hi Tony, it’s Steve. Everything ok?_

Too vague.

_Hi Tony, it’s Steve. Anything I can do for you today?_

Too obvious.

***

> **SGR SENT @ 12:34 > **  
>  Hey Tony, it’s Steve. How are you feeling?

> **RECEIVED FROM AES @ 12:36 > **  
>  Much improved. Thank you for rescue yesterday, Steve. End of semester is shit, but got time for coffee on M?

Steve stared down at his phone, stunned.

“No way.”

> **SGR SENT @ 12:36 > **  
>  Jane, I can’t tell if Tony is asking me out on a date (?)

> **RECEIVED FROM JNF @ 12:36 > **  
>  ABOUT DAMN TIME.

Steve dropped his phone on his kitchen table and took several steps away from it to keep from shouting at that lying temptress. Tony? In what world would Tony _ask him?_ Be interested _in him?_

But if this was his chance... the fear of letting it slip through his fingers drove him back to his phone, and he started typing a reply before he could overthink it.

> **SGR SENT @ 12:37 > **  
>  Glad to hear you’re feeling better. Monday after 2PM is good. Look forward to learning about your rocket.

He pressed send before he could regret it, then immediately dropped the phone again and hurried to his living room where he felt safer. He tried sitting on the couch, but that made it even more difficult to breathe, so he got up and made his way to the porch. But could he hear the message notification from the porch? So he hurried back into the living room and turned the TV on low, and he started clicking through the channels for a lack of anything else to do.

Huh. _Keeping Up Appearances_ was about to start.

> **RECEIVED FROM AES @ 12:41 > **  
>  Only if you can multitask == can you drink coffee & listen? Am I safe?

Steve all but vaulted the couch to reach the kitchen the moment he heard the notification, but he didn't open it. Instead, he clicked the home button to light up the preview of the incoming message again so he wouldn’t leave a Read receipt, and he shamelessly stared at the message with the hunger of a moose in heat.

The response came to him easily enough.

> **SGR SENT @ 12:41 > **  
>  Promise I won’t spill a drop.

> **SGR SENT @ 12:41 > **  
>  I can’t be in the same room as my phone is this waht love feels like?

> **RECEIVED FROM NAT @ 12:44 > **  
>  It’s not true love until you have the urge to kill him

> **SGR SENT @ 12:45 > **  
>  Forget I ever asked

***

_Monday, May 15 2017_

Steve arrived half an hour early for their date on Monday, early enough that he could go in and familiarize himself with the Thinking Cup menu and scope out the seating. He came back out to the street around ten to, and he did his level best not to look too suspicious. But he was too nervous to look at his phone, and he was too worried about missing Tony to pop into another shop, so there was nothing for it but people watching and stalking a small perimeter around the block. 

“Hey,” he heard Tony’s voice call from somewhere to his left, and he spun to face him at once. Tony seemed to be hesitating about something, or maybe he was worried about not being early? Steve couldn’t tell, but it made him all the more determined to not let Tony feel uncomfortable. “Have you been waiting long?”

“No, I’ve been wandering the area,” Steve assured him with an easy smile, and he turned to gesture in the general direction behind him to give Tony something else to focus on. “Did you know the Freedom Trail comes through here?”

“Yeah, that’s the red line,” Tony told him and scraped his shoe at the line painted along the center of the pavement. “When you’re drunk, the line is the only thing keeping you going. And right around here, you’re already ten, eleven stops in, you’re pretty far gone, but you still remember Modern and ...”

Steve remembered to blink again when he realized Tony had been silent for too long. “Tony?” he prompted for the rest of the sentence, and followed Tony’s gaze on something behind him. 

“There’s no line,” Tony whispered in a distant voice, as if hypnotized. “There’s no—come on!” 

Steve was still recovering from his whole life flashing before his eyes when he found himself standing in line at Modern Pastry with Tony all but shaking beside him in his excitement. “This is a fucking _miracle!_ You don’t und—the line is always out the door, can I ju—Hi, hello,” Tony smiled warmly at the young woman offering to help him from behind the counter, “A dozen cannolis to go.” 

He had been in over his head before, but nothing had prepared him for arguing about pastries with Tony Stark. Sure, he had a sweet tooth, and sure, he could put food away, but _two dozen cannolis?_

Though, here he was, and Tony Stark was demanding to share something that he really enjoyed with Steve. If his 22 year old self could see him now, he would have fainted! Steve struggled not to grin too obviously at the thought, and he stretched to open the door for the Thinking Cup for Tony. 

“I didn’t think a first date with one of my idols could get any more intense,” he confessed with a soft laugh in his voice. “But I think you live to prove me wrong.”

Tony craned his head around to stare at Steve in a single heartbeat, seemingly oblivious to the couple he had almost run directly into. “I—this, this is a first date?”

Steve’s quiet laugh grew into an openly adoring smile. “Well, I guess that depends. It’s only the first date if you feel I deserve a second.”

If this was what it felt like to have Tony’s eyes and attention focused on him—where _Steve_ and little else mattered, Steve was fairly confident he could live off of it for countless years to come. He led Tony further into the coffee shop and left him to find a table with the promise to come back shortly with their drinks. 

“Here you go,” Steve said quietly enough not to startle Tony, but also loud enough that he would see the hot coffee coming. Tony put his phone away at once and moved the pastry boxes so nothing would be in Steve’s way when he put the cups of coffee down on the table. 

“One each,” he explained. 

“Fair enough,” Steve agreed and tried not to laugh. “So,” he prompted gently once he’d taken a seat, “what’s a professor of architecture and urbanization doing building rockets?”

“Because I can?” Tony answered with a smirk and a casual shrug of his shoulders, and the expression was so perfect that it couldn’t be anything but practiced. And if he was hiding behind facades, Steve knew he was failing at his own promise not to let Tony feel uncomfortable. 

“I’m confused,” Steve admitted before Tony settled too far into this practiced performance. “Am I supposed to play along with your hedonist facade?”

The silence was extended and charged, but it wasn’t awkward. The way Tony stared at him—the clear surprise at being caught out, the unexpected confrontation, all of it seemed to have caught him so off guard he didn’t know how to respond. Until he did. Just like that, all the passion and intent he had tried to keep hidden behind his facade was revealed. Steve was rooted to his seat, mesmerized and struggling to keep up, until soon there was no point or even desire to try schooling his features into anything other than his open admiration. 

“That’s _incredible_ , Tony,” Steve choked out, breathless. “That’s—that’d be a lot of lives changed.”

Tony’s gaze dropped to his own box of cannolis, and he fiddled with the treats in the box as he shrugged and hedged, “If we make it happen.”

Steve could have reached over and shaken him for all the sense that made. 

“When you make it happen,” he promised, “there’s—Tony, what about your track record suggests you wouldn’t be able to make it happen?”

“First of all, that’s unfair: past success is no guarantee for future success—” 

“—no, nothing is guaranteed, but—” 

“Second: would you eat the damn cannoli?” Tony cried, and it was so unexpected, Steve had to pause and look at his hands. Sure enough, he was holding a cannoli in his right hand the whole time they’d been talking. “It’s—I’m trying to wait here, I don’t want to be in cannoli haze and miss yours.”

He struggled not to laugh at Tony’s sudden outburst, so he did as he was told. With a final calculating look at his cannoli, he decided the first half would be a safe way to go. 

When the crispy shell broke evenly and effortlessly came apart in his mouth, unexpectedly filling his mouth with the sweet cream, Steve almost dropped it in his surprise. His eyes fluttered closed instinctively, determined not to spill in front of Tony; it wasn’t until he accidentally caught a glimpse of Tony’s expression that he nearly choked. His eyes were dark and glazed over with shameless lust, and his wet lips were parted—they looked too inviting to resist, and a deep moan escaped from somewhere dark and depraved within him as Steve swallowed down the cream. He settled his forearms down on the table with perhaps more force than necessary, but he needed the distance, he needed the chance to calm himself, to swallow and to breathe in peace, to think of anything but Tony’s red lips and that wanton desire so clear in the brown eyes Steve already adored. 

_Shit._

“That,” he heard Tony whisper unevenly. “I—I did not think that through.” 

“This is indecent,” Steve mumbled in a half-hearted accusation. 

“I don’t teach today,” Tony confided to him without allowing a pause, if a little hoarsely. 

Steve could not get the Lyft app open fast enough. 

*** 

Consciousness returned to him in indulgent, unhurried stages, and the first tendril of awareness was the unmistakable and welcome scent of Tony all around him. He blinked his eyes open, parting briefly with the memories of his most recent dream come true to take in the space around him. The tidy, modern interior of Tony’s bedroom was all the more inviting against the exposed brick walls, and Steve had every intention of sinking further into the luxurious sheets and pillows for another well-deserved nap when he became aware of the cautious little movements beside him. 

“Tony?” he mumbled softly, his voice uncooperative and sleep-muzzed. 

Tony turned to him at once, his trusty phone in hand. Steve came up on an elbow to meet him half-way, nuzzling into the soft hair at the back of his head, humming in his contentment. “Is everything alright?” he finally asked, his whispered words inspiring a subtle shiver all down Tony’s body. 

“Yeah—everything is fine. My friends; you met Pepper,” Tony answered in a sleepy drawl, though, to Steve’s disappointment, the phone continued to steal his attention away from them. “They’re not convinced—”

His answer was briefly interrupted when Steve first brushed an adoring kiss over the warm skin of Tony’s shoulder; pleased with the result, Steve slid further down in bed to chase the soft gasps he had cherished not so long ago. Incrementally, he peeled away the bedsheets from Tony’s naked skin, worshiping his body with tender kisses and greedy lips as he made his way. 

It wasn’t long before he heard the muffled thud of the phone thrown aside somewhere on the comforter, forgotten. 

Steve released the small lovebite he’d indulged in against Tony’s ribs, raking his teeth over the bruise he could already see forming. “Not convinced of what?” he eventually murmured innocently enough, or as innocently as he could while continuing to worry the small bruise with his fingers. 

“That you’re not—” Tony hissed softly on an inhale when Steve’s teasing was enough to sting, and Steve found himself urged up for a kiss in punishment. He went willingly, eagerly, smiling into the shameless kiss. When their lips finally eased apart, Tony returned the smile against Steve’s lips and continued in a quiet whisper. “That you’re not trying to take out the competition.”

“But I am,” Steve grinned, his voice a deep rumble after their kiss. “I’ve been trying to take you out for months, Tony. You didn’t notice?”

To Steve’s amazement, a faint color rose in Tony’s cheeks as he tried to laugh off his bashfulness; before he could comment, Tony was tugging on his hair to demand another kiss, and who was Steve to ever deny him? 

“Didn’t believe it,” Tony finally confessed, as they came apart, and Steve could have laughed if not for the rising determination to never have Tony doubt him again. 

“Believe it,” Steve growled, pushing off the mattress until he all but covered Tony’s cozy, loose-limbed sprawl under the blankets. He lowered himself in patient increments until he could reach Tony’s lips in a kiss. 

He rumbled into the kiss when he first felt Tony’s left hand sliding up his flank, appreciatively tracing the firm ridges of muscle until he reached the piercing he’d been searching for. Tony gathered the small ring up and rubbed at it with the calloused pad of his thumb until Steve broke away with a breathless gasp and there was no resistance left in his body. 

Tony watched him trying to catch his breath with dark, hungry eyes, and he gave the pierced nipple a pinching tug. 

“Make me.”


	6. Fifth month

_Friday, Aug 4th 2017_

**Steve**

Steve stirred in his armchair and looked up from his book at the first sign of twilight. He frowned a little to himself, unsure of how it went from lunchtime to sunset so quickly, or when he had been left alone in the sitting room.

“Tony?” he called, listening for any sign that Tony might have heard him. He stood up slowly, twisting and reaching his arms to stretch out his back, before finding his slippers and taking up the search.

With the sun out of sight, the temperature was dropping by the minute; out on an island in the Atlantic, it got cold even on summer nights. Steve wandered through to the kitchen and peeked out the window from the stairs to check on the hot tub, then made his way upstairs to the bedroom, but Tony was nowhere to be found. It wasn’t until he wandered out to the backyard, several minutes later, that he found Tony napping in the hammock, bundled up in a heavy throw blanket with a forgotten book in his lap.

Steve crept around to the Rais fireplace not too far from where Tony was sleeping, and as quietly as he could, he picked up a few fresh logs to get started on a fire. Miraculously, Tony slept through it all, and as the fire grew into a pleasant, crackling warmth, Tony instinctively turned towards it in his hammock, chasing the heat.

The last glimmer of dusk stretched and faded across the horizon. All was silent around them, and Steve settled down on the wide bench with a blanket of his own to indulge in the descending night. In the distance, he could hear the whisper of lazy waves lapping against the sandy beach, and he would have closed his eyes to meditate in its peace, if he could only look away from the way the shadows of the fire played across Tony’s features.

“You could rub my feet,” Tony murmured in a sleepy voice, “to be perfect.”

Steve’s face split in a grin, though he tried not to let it show too obviously in his voice. “I can’t reach your feet from here, Tony,” he pointed out, which was perfectly reasonable.

“You can deadlift a Newfie,” Tony countered, petulant, and Steve couldn’t contain a laugh any longer.

“Tony! That was a puppy!” Steve tried to remind him through his laughter. “He was barely a hundred pounds.”

Tony grumbled to himself and shifted in his comfort cocoon, still unwilling to open his eyes. “Still. Bring me closer.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but he was just as eager to have Tony within arms reach again, so without further argument he got up and made his way over to the hammock. Tony continued to pretend to be sleeping, though when Steve bent down to get his arms under Tony, he could make out the start of a smirk on Tony’s lips. It was awkward at first to find a safe grip with the giant blanket in the way, but Steve managed it easily enough.

“You’re the worst,” Tony muttered into the soft shoulder of Steve’s knitted sweater, stretching a little in his hold to get an arm around Steve’s shoulders and pull himself closer. Tony hummed into the crook of Steve’s neck and continued complaining. “Couldn’t you pick? Sexy or smart?”

“It’s called smexy, babe,” Steve told him, matter of factly, but Tony’s offended whine was so indignant that Steve had no hope of keeping a straight face. He laughed shamelessly into Tony’s soft hair, and bundling Tony up more carefully in his arms, sat them down on the patio bench.

They sat together in quiet contentment for some time, Tony half-asleep in Steve’s arms and nuzzling into his neck, and Steve resting his cheek against Tony’s hair. Steve’s eyes were slipping shut when Tony’s slight shiver caught his attention.

“Do you want me to get you a jacket?” he asked in a whisper, thumbing at the fabric of Tony’s sweater to see just how thin it was.

“Stay,” Tony insisted sleepily, “‘m okay.”

Steve frowned a little to himself, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he eyed the big nearby coffee table, and quickly decided to pull it closer. Carefully, he lifted the granite top off to reveal the round grill underneath; the ashes of last night’s fire still littered the bottom, but it was clear enough that he could get away with another fire.

To Tony’s muttered displeasure, Steve got up to get some wood for the new fire. All in all, it only took minutes to get the kindling and the wood sorted, and with a rolled bundle of newspaper, he carried the fire from the Gizeth to light the second fireplace. Still, when he settled back in his seat, Tony sighed, as if entirely put out.

“Do over,” he said, cuddling back under Steve’s arm for warmth. “You got up and officially ruined the weekend. Do-over.”

Steve grinned broadly, laughing softly at his… well, Tony. Something tugged at him deep in his gut, and for some time he could only stare at Tony’s face, cherishing every detail.

“You know I’d like to spend the rest of the summer right here,” Steve told him, more sincerely than he initially intended.

“—Good, then it’s settled,” Tony decided, and Steve rumbled in amusement he didn’t want to reveal.

“ _Tony_ ,” he reproved mildly, pressing a kiss into his hair. “You have work, I have work—”

“That we can do from here.”

“—I have a conference in two weeks,” Steve reminded him, as if Tony had forgotten.

“Yeah,” Tony sighed eventually. “You’ll dazzle them, London will try to steal you—”

“I promise I’ll hide behind Bruce the whole time,” Steve said, his voice rumbling with a suppressed laugh. Tony hummed in agreement, but didn’t say anything else.

“Hey, Tony?” Steve asked, a little hesitantly, and Tony hummed quietly again in acknowledgement. “I have—I wanted to ask you something.”

Finally, Tony opened his eyes.

“We need to talk?”

“Something like that,” Steve hedged, and he watched Tony shift away to sit up on the bench.

“I’m up,” he promised, pushing the blanket away but shifting closer on the bench, wedging himself closer to Steve for warmth. “How’s my hair? Good?”

Steve couldn’t help a grin, and he reached to draw his fingers through Tony’s hair to comb it into a general sense of order. “Spectacular.”

“We can’t have a talk with bad hair,” Tony told him. “So, what’s on your mind?”

“Well,” Steve hesitated; all of a sudden what had felt like a reasonable question now seemed terribly unfair. “I’ve been invited to this thing. It’s, uh. It’s the last weekend of August—so, you know, if this is too short notice,” he quickly interrupted himself to say, “that’s—I understand.”

Tony stared at him, a small frown starting to form between his brows. “After India,” he said, mostly to prompt Steve along.

“Right, after the conference,” Steve agreed. “It’s in Seoul. It’s, um, it’s this… this ceremony, I don’t really—”

“—Auguste Perret?” Tony guessed, and Steve could have fallen over just to hear the name of the award spoken out loud. It still didn’t feel real.

“I think so,” Steve whispered, “I mean, they might rescind it; I have no business there—” he added, but Tony was rolling his eyes already. “No, really Tony—don’t do that, I’m serious!

“Steve, that was maybe the first thing—are you—” Tony started to ask, and suddenly had to laugh at Steve’s drawn expression. “Steve, what’s—why are you making your karaoke face?”

“Because I have as much business singing as I do at that ceremony!” Steve cried, and Tony all but cackled. “No—stop laughing, Tony! This is serious,” he insisted. “I’ve—I’ve been working for seven years; they have been building for _fifty_.”

“And how many of them are changing entire cities?”

“You,” Steve pointed out, “California—”

“Sure, but I’m not nominated this year,” Tony interrupted him in a gentle tone. “Steve, there are now two more of your buildings being built by local organizations—you have to see how that’s different than designing a windmill hotel.”

Steve paused his counter-argument at the last thing Tony said, and he blinked in confusion before Tony rolled his eyes again. “Nobody’s designed a windmill hotel,” he clarified, and then, more gently, continued. “Babe, I’m not going to argue with you about your nomination or whether you deserve it. I know you deserve it. What was your question?”

“Well,” Steve said, suddenly breathless again, and he shifted uncomfortably on the bench as he tried to work up the courage to continue. “So, it’s—it’s in Seoul,” he said slowly, enunciating more forcefully in his discomfort. “And, and it’s—you know, it’s been two months since we… we started seeing each other.”

Smiling, Tony hummed gently in acknowledgement, and he shifted even closer, rubbing gently at Steve’s knee in encouragement.

“I care about you,” Steve whispered unsteadily, “a lot. I mean, it’s a little scary,” he admitted, and just like that, his throat ran dry. He cleared his throat and licking at his lips, steadying himself before continuing. “I don’t think this will happen again, and I—it, um. It would mean a lot, to me, if you, if you would be there,” he finished in a sudden rush. “With me. As my, uh—as my date.”

Tony watched him with kind eyes and a gentle smile, an expression Steve recognized but couldn’t quite identify. “Steve,” he eventually said, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

***

_Wednesday, Aug 16th 2017_

**Tony**

Pietro paused in the doorway of the lab and took one calculated sniff.

“Stark?”

He heard a non-committal hum in response from somewhere in the lab, but even a second spin around the lab didn’t reveal Tony’s location. Out of curiosity, Pietro tried the final ace up his sleeve: he removed the lid from the largest coffee in the carrier he had brought with him, and waited.

“Dark room!” Tony yelled soon enough, and Pietro wasted no time making his way there.

As promised, he found Tony in the windowless office space they had turned into a place for reviewing data and plans.

“Coffee, sire?”

“I already got you funding for the conference,” Tony told him even as he accepted the giant, steaming cup of coffee. “What do you want now?”

“I share a room with Alfredo,” Pietro replied, banking on the direct approach. “I don’t like him. He sleepwalks,” he explained, but when Tony only acknowledged him with a shrug of one shoulder, he added: “Into my bed.”

Tony stared at Pietro as he mulled it over, but when the time for Pietro to clarify that this was a joke had passed, Tony nodded. “Yeah, yeah okay, tell Maryann to get you your own room. I’ll find the money for it.”

“Thanks, Stark!” Pietro grinned and, after putting the carrier with two more cups of coffee down within reach for Tony, started to make his exit. “Also, tell Rogers: Thank you.”

“Hm?”

Tony’s phone pinged with the notification of a new message and, with a quick glance at his watch, Tony forgot about the rest of the world and immediately got up to fetch it from his desk.

“Thank you to Rogers,” Pietro called back without breaking his stride. “You’re happier now, Stark. You say yes to more.”

> **RECEIVED FROM BONITA APPLEBUM @14:49 >**  
>  Landed in Delhi

Tony was smiling down at his phone like an idiot when Pietro’s words sunk in, and his smile turned into a thoughtful frown. The sound of the door shutting behind Pietro snapped him out of his stupor, and he turned his attention back to Steve.

> **THAT’S PROFESSOR PIG TO YOU SENT @ 14:52 >**  
>  You’re terrible for my mental health and productivity.

> **RECEIVED FROM BONITA APPLEBUM @ 14:53 >**  
>  It’s been two days. You can do this.

> **THAT’S PROFESSOR PIG TO YOU SENT @ 14:53 >**  
>  But you took my partner with you.

> **RECEIVED FROM BONITA APPLEBUM @ 14:56 >**  
>  Bruce can make his own decisions, Tony.

> **THAT’S PROFESSOR PIG TO YOU SENT @ 14:57 >**  
>  whatever

> **THAT’S PROFESSOR PIG TO YOU SENT @ 14:57 >**  
>  You two better not be having any fun without me

> **RECEIVED FROM BONITA APPLEBUM @ 15:03 >**  
>  Inconceivable.

> **RECEIVED FROM BONITA APPLEBUM @ 15:03 >**  
>  We’ve been traveling 22 hrs straight.

> **RECEIVED FROM BONITA APPLEBUM @ 15:03 >**  
>  Bruce is already asleep again and I just need a swim before I hit the hay

> **RECEIVED FROM BONITA APPLEBUM @ 15:04 >**  
>  Time to go babe talk soon

***

> **RECEIVED FROM BONITA APPLEBUM @ 20:20 >**  
>  That post was not what I expected to wake up to.

> **THAT’S PROFESSOR PIG TO YOU SENT @ 20:22 >**  
>  People deserve to know Professor Perfect is a giant dork

> **RECEIVED FROM BONITA APPLEBUM @ 20:22 >**  
>  ………..Have you met me? You think I am professor perfect?

> **THAT’S PROFESSOR PIG TO YOU SENT @ 20:23 >**  
>  I think you’re more critical of yourself than anyone else on the planet.

> **RECEIVED FROM BONITA APPLEBUM @ 20:26 >**  
>  It’s way too early in the morning for this kind of talk

> **RECEIVED FROM BONITA APPLEBUM @ 20:26 >**  
>  I need a few laps before orientation to get the jitters out. Talk later?

> **THAT’S PROFESSOR PIG TO YOU SENT @ 20:26 >**  
>  What I wouldn’t do for that view

> **RECEIVED FROM BONITA APPLEBUM @ 20:27 >**  
>  Maybe a picture can be arranged...

> **RECEIVED FROM BONITA APPLEBUM @ 20:52 >**  
>  Well? Did you like it?

Tony frowned down at his phone in confusion, then on a hunch he thumbed over to Instagram.

> **THAT’S PROFESSOR PIG TO YOU SENT @ 20:53 >**  
>  That wasn’t the view I was talking about

> **RECEIVED FROM BONITA APPLEBUM @ 20:54 >**  
> 

> **THAT’S PROFESSOR PIG TO YOU SENT @ 20:54 >**  
>  Steeeeeeeve

> **THAT’S PROFESSOR PIG TO YOU SENT @ 20:54 >**  
>  Which one are you wearing

> **RECEIVED FROM BONITA APPLEBUM @ 20:54 >**  
>  White? Red? Neither? Who knows.

> **THAT’S PROFESSOR PIG TO YOU SENT @ 20:55 >**  
>  NOBODY LIKES A TEASE STEVEN

> **RECEIVED FROM BONITA APPLEBUM @ 20:56 >**  
>  Can’t hear you over the sound of having the rooftop pool all to myself for this sunrise...

> **THAT’S PROFESSOR PIG TO YOU SENT @ 20:58 >**  
>  You’re such a little shit Steve

***

_Thursday, Aug 17th 2017_

**Steve**

“So you’re the hot young stud at MIT.”

Steve paused his chewing long enough to stare at the korma in his spoon, genuinely torn between not wanting to acknowledge the prick, and wanting to know who was just that juvenile.

“This seat taken?” the same man asked, and he sat down beside Steve before he had a chance to answer. “Steve Rogers.”

“I know,” Steve told him. “It’s my name, after all.”

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” the man continued after a brief hesitation. “I’m impressed by your work.”

“I’m sure that would mean something to me if I knew who you were.”

“Hammer; Justin Hammer. Princeton,” he added with a grin, “I’m sure you’ve heard of us.”

Steve leaned back in his seat to regard Hammer as he thought back, but in the end he had to shake his head. “I’m afraid not.”

Hammer gave him a flat stare over his glasses, his lips pursed in distaste. “You haven’t heard of Princeton?”

“No, of course I’ve heard of the school,” Steve conceded, but then with a shrug added, “unfortunately I haven’t heard much about your department. I only entertained three offers.”

“So I heard,” Hammer smirked. “You declined Harvard?”

Steve couldn’t resist a smile at the memory of his hapless first day at MIT, and how he had once even regretted his decision. “MIT had more to offer,” he said eventually.

“It’s funny you should say that,” Hammer noted, shifting in the seat to casually drape an arm over the back in some facsimile of postured dominance. “Rumor has it your integration into the faculty has been ...impressive.”

Steve stared, too bored to even react. “Is there a point to this conversation? My food is getting cold.”

“Well, you see, I just overheard some folks gossiping about you, and I thought I’d come over here and do you a favor,” Hammer explained. “You see, Stark and I, we go back many years.”

“You’re friends with Professor Stark?” Steve wondered in feigned curiosity, “and you’re at Princeton?”

Hammer smiled with a flash of teeth. “I thought you hadn’t heard of our department.”

“I only looked into well-ranked departments,” Steve confessed with unrepentant grace.

“We’re both from MIT,” Hammer said, attempting to force a casual poise he clearly didn’t feel. “He was always after young stars like yourself,” he added, matter of factly, “leggy, bushy-tailed blondes.”

“Professor Stark is an exceptional man,” Steve mused, smiling at the unexpected thought of just how crazy Tony might have been as a student. “They must have been lucky women—or were you suggesting the blondes were also men?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” Hammer replied with a dark smirk. “Did they tell you he’s a collaborative scholar? Promise he’d help you grow in the field? I mean, what else could MIT offer that Harvard couldn't?” Hammer asked rhetorically; Steve’s lack of a reaction didn’t seem to dampen his gusto, and he soon continued. 

“They’re lying. I know Stark, and Stark only wants one thing. I’m here to give you the best advice you’ll ever hear, Steven, so pay attention. See, you have something none of the others ever had: you’re the it-boy. You’re en vogue; you’re all anyone wants to talk about. Seize that advantage!”

“I’m confused,” Steve admitted after a brief consideration. “To what end am I ...seizing my advantage?”

“You’re _hot_ ,” Hammer leaned in to stage whisper. “You’re a walking personification of male virility, with your jawline and your shoulder-to-waist ratio. What do you wear for those pecs, a B cup? You’re not getting any hotter than this. But, you’ll get older, and Stark will move on. So, tie the knot now: prenup or no prenup, once Stark is balls deep in the next gal, you’ll be set up for life.”

“Apart from how inappropriate and tasteless your suggestion is,” Steve said after a long stretch of silence, his voice pitched low, “the next time I hear of this… cavalier attitude of yours, towards myself or anyone, I will dismiss you with more than words. Am I understood?”

“Hey now, don’t kill the messenger, Steven,” Hammer laughed, raising his hands in a show of surrender. “I’m only trying to help you—”

“Hammer.”

Steve looked up at Bruce’s voice and welcome return, offering him a smile in greeting.

“Hey Bruce,” Hammer grinned, “how you doing, man?”

“You’re in my seat,” Bruce told him instead, his voice clipped.

“Oh! Yeah, sure,” Hammer uncrossed his legs and got up with a decided flourish, though he didn’t go very far once he freed up Bruce’s seat. “Long time, no see, pal,” he tried again.

“I’m not your pal, and it hasn’t been long enough,” Bruce corrected with no remorse, and he took his seat without so much as looking Hammer’s way. “Piss off, Hammer.”

At first Hammer’s expression suggested he might make another attempt at conversation, but when Bruce turned his back on him, Steve followed suit; finally, the man took the hint.

“Did he and Tony really go to school together?” Steve asked quietly once Hammer was out of hearing range. “He graduated from MIT?”

“Not exactly,” Bruce said with a wry expression. “He transferred to Stanford his second year; Tony was a senior undergrad. Turned out MIT wasn’t big enough for the both of them.”

Steve nodded in a silent acknowledgement, but despite knowing better—despite trusting Bruce and Tony’s opinion of the man—he couldn’t shake Hammer’s words that easily. He hadn’t dared to dream about forever, or even marriage, but he had admired Tony for more than a decade. Loved him since he saw his first TED talk about the potential for re-imagining the future, in inspiring hope and support for a better tomorrow through bold, calculated patterns rather than uncoordinated, broad strokes. By comparison, who could Steve ever be in Tony’s eyes?

“He’s just jealous, Steve,” Bruce told him, his voice patient with sympathy. “It’s not personal, you understand that, don’t you? He’s trying to hurt Tony through you.”

Still frustrated by his thoughts (and how easily someone as petty as Hammer had stirred up his insecurities), Steve could only nod and make Bruce one promise.

“He won’t.”

***

_Sunday, Aug 20th 2017_

**Tony**

The distance felt longer than he remembered, and by the time Tony found Pepper’s table at Harborside, he was hungrier, thirstier, and twenty minutes late. 

“Tell me you already ordered,” he whined as he dropped into the seat across from Pepper, and she wasted no time pushing two glasses of water in his direction. 

“Lobster rolls, fries, and moonshine margarita,” she told him easily, too familiar with his tastes to hesitate ordering for him. “Nice shorts, Tony.”

“Gimme a break,” he laughed as soon as he’d gulped down his mouthful of water. “It’s too hot to run in anything else.”

“Whatever you say, Tony,” she said wryly, clearly humoring him. “Just don’t forget to pack it for Korea. Has Steve seen them?”

“He picked them,” Tony replied after a beat of silence, and he tore off the armband his phone was tucked into to let his arm breathe. “For a grown man, he’s really fond of booty shorts.”

Pepper considered him in thought, turning his words over in her mind before speaking again. “Tony,” she asked in a gentling tone, “how’s Steve doing?”

“He’s fine,” Tony answered a little too quickly. Pepper didn’t even have to make a face at him; instead, she tipped her head to the right, an unspoken question, and Tony broke like a dam built with hay. 

“He’s been quiet,” he admitted, trying to mask his discomfort with a casual shrug. “He, uh. Bruce said Hammer talked to him—”

“Justin Hammer?” Pepper interrupted him to ask, “tried to take credit for your undergrad thesis Justin Hammer?”

“—the only useless Hammer in human history, yeah,” Tony grumbled, rolling his eyes at the damn irony. A man who couldn’t even build a truss bridge somehow weaseled his way under Steve’s skin in less than fifteen minutes? 

The waitress came to their table to drop off Pepper’s Portuguese seafood stew and wine, and Tony’s lobster roll and margarita, and she beat a quick retreat to tend to the rest of her tables. 

“I don’t know what he said to Steve,” Tony said when they had privacy again. “He hasn’t said anything about it to me. Bruce did.”

“Maybe he’s not ready to talk about it yet,” Pepper offered carefully. “Some things take time to digest.”

“But he didn’t even tell me how his presentation went,” Tony muttered, tasting his moonshine margarita—to his surprise, that was some top shelf tequila. “Bruce told me.”

“How did it go?”

“He killed it,” Tony said, and couldn’t resist beaming. “Apparently everyone and their uncle needs him to do a book chapter now.”

“Well,” Pepper started to say, but then quieted for a moment to collect her thoughts. “Maybe it’s not even Hammer. He was feeling a little overwhelmed last semester, wasn’t he? And now he’s teaching one more class in the Fall?”

Tony frowned, not having considered that possibility before. The pressure and practice of academia had been too ubiquitous—it was the only life he knew—to be a possible problem. How could he have taken that for granted? 

“It’s possible,” he agreed quietly after a while (and if he felt relieved by such a possibility, nobody had to know). “He’s the youngest nomination for the Auguste Perret in history—by almost 20 years.”

Ever so perceptive, Pepper’s expression revealed more concern for Steve than awe. “They must be all over him at that conference.”

Tony’s frown only deepened, and he quickly checked his watch before freeing his phone from the discarded armband to pull up his messages. He had a few new messages, but none of them were from Steve.

> **THAT’S PROFESSOR PIG TO YOU SENT @ 12:34 >**  
>  Hi handsome, can’t wait to see you Wednesday night.

> **THAT’S PROFESSOR PIG TO YOU SENT @ 12:34 >**  
>  Anything you’d like from Tokyo?

“Don’t send too many, Tony,” Pepper cautioned him mildly. “Maybe he needs some space.” 

“Two texts, Pep,” Tony promised, and he made a show of putting his phone away on the table. “No mas.”

“So,” Pepper said more cheerfully, changing the subject. “Do you know what you’re wearing to the ceremony?”

“He got me a red tie—” Tony started to say, and Pepper rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Last month when he was in LA to talk about his book. I think—I thought I’d wear that.”

“...and what else,” Pepper deadpanned, only half-joking. “Tell me there is more to this outfit.”

“Eventually, maybe,” he drawled, feigning haughty irritation at the suggestion that he has to clothe himself. “But for now, that’s all I’ve got.”

“I like your white evening jacket,” Pepper noted, thinking out loud. “It would make the tie stand out.”

> **RECEIVED FROM BONITA APPLEBUM @ 12:41 >**  
>  Could you bring my Tagalongs?

Tony nearly leapt out of his seat to grab his phone, but he couldn’t help but frown down at it. There were no endearments, no acknowledgement of his previous texts and voicemails. There wasn’t even a comment about picking him up from the airport. 

> **THAT’S PROFESSOR PIG TO YOU SENT @ 12:41 >**  
>  How many?

> **RECEIVED FROM BONITA APPLEBUM @ 12:42 >**  
>  All of them.

> **THAT’S PROFESSOR PIG TO YOU SENT @ 12:41 >**  
>  OK.

“Something’s wrong,” Tony told Pepper without looking away from his phone, because he had to tell someone. He stared at the damn screen, demanding that those three little dots would appear and tell him that Steve had more to say, but it never happened. 

“What do you mean?” Pepper asked, lowering her voice and leaning forward as if their table suddenly wasn’t private enough for this conversation. “What did he say?”

“He, uh,” without looking away from his phone still, Tony’s expression twisted in a grimace, unsure of how to explain. “Steve has certain comfort foods. He eats when he… when he’s nervous? Anxious—I don’t know. Anyway, he has a separate freezer for Girl Scout Cookies.”

Pepper blinked at him slowly, a little unsure of how to process that concept. Eventually, she managed to ask, “What kind?”

“All of them,” Tony told her without any trace of irony. “He only eats them one or two boxes at a time, now he wants all eight?”

“Be patient, Tony,” Pepper reminded him, “give him space. You can do this, just one more night.”

Tony nodded slowly, and with considerable effort put his phone away, screen side down. “Right. I can do it. One more night.”

***

_Wednesday, Aug 23rd 2017_

Even without delays, and all the alcohol, privacy, and food that first-class travel brought, Tony couldn’t wait to collect his luggage and get out of the damn airport. It was ten o’clock at night, and he was ready to sleep on a mattress. 

Preferably, a mattress with a warm, familiar body and strong, familiar arms.

> **THAT’S PROFESSOR PIG TO YOU SENT @ 21:56 >**  
>  Got the suitcase on my way

> **RECEIVED FROM BONITA APPLEBUM @ 21:56 >**  
>  I’m here.

His was one of maybe two flights of passengers who had arrived, and when he finally got his suitcase and passed through the labyrinth to the arrivals hall, it wasn’t difficult to spot his tall, blond Steve behind the division. 

Tony had spent countless hours and restless nights thinking about what was frustrating Steve—what Hammer had said; how the conference goers had made him feel; how he might now feel at one of the most prestigious awards in their field. 

How he was going to react to Tony when they met again. 

But when Steve spotted him, Tony saw his tired, anxious face light up with a broad smile. Steve sped across the distance between them, his long strides carrying him with such a momentum that when he got his arms around Tony, he lifted him clear off his feet. 

Tony didn’t hear himself laughing for some time, too preoccupied getting his arms around Steve in return, reminding himself of how Steve smelled, and how his long, firm body felt against his own. 

“You scared me,” Tony accused in a whisper even as he smiled into Steve’s neck, partly hoping it would go unheard. “I missed you.”

“I missed you,” Steve whispered back, and he pressed a lingering kiss to Tony’s temple before gently (reluctantly) dropping his arms from around him and putting some space between them again. 

“You said not to get a car,” Steve then said, his skepticism clear in his careful enunciation. “We can still get one.”

“We’ve got a car,” Tony promised, and before Steve could think of doing it, he picked up the handle of his own suitcase and started in the direction of a long line of drivers in fine black suits waiting a little farther from the friends and family. As promised, there was a man there holding a sign for STARK. 

Steve’s protests started as soon as they were shown to the waiting limousine. 

“Tony, how much—”

“Nope.” 

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

“Then let me—”

“Steve,” Tony said instead, “this is the kind of honor no-one receives twice in one decade. I promise you, what I am doing right now? This is exactly the right level of _holy shit_ you deserve; anything less would be insulting. So let the man take your luggage, and let me do this.”

The wind in Steve’s argument visibly deflated in a single blow, and with a sincere thank you, he handed the driver his duffle and dutifully followed Tony into the car. 

They strapped in side by side, close enough to nestle comfortably against each other. Steve draped his arm around Tony’s shoulders, keeping him close. 

Their driver made quick work of their luggage, and seeing them strapped in, raised the partition and pulled out of parking to take them on their way. 

“How long is the drive?” Steve wondered, his voice lowered and curious. 

“Seventy minutes.”

“Where are we staying?”

“At the Hyatt.”

Steve frowned, and even without seeing his face Tony could feel him trying to understand it. In the end, it seemed Steve couldn’t make heads or tails of it, and finally had to ask, “I… wouldn’t have expected this kind of secrecy for the Hyatt, Tony.”

Tony smiled to himself, and he bowed his head just enough to press a kiss to Steve’s chest. “Trust me.”

Steve was quiet for some time, and Tony did his best not to let himself appear tense. Steve never hesitated for such a simple negotiation; Steve had never had to think about trusting him. How much had they lost in these past seven days of stilted, laconic messaging?

“How could I not?” Steve eventually replied, picking his head up so he could look Tony in the face. Tony lifted his head from Steve’s chest to meet his eyes, and he was surprised to see the tension of anxiety return to them. 

“Steve?”

“I love you, Tony,” Steve told him, apropos of nothing. “I—I realized last week that, that my time with you is limited. I don’t know, you know,” he swallowed something back, his nerves seemingly getting the better of him. “Things happen. People move on. But I—while we have this time together, I don’t want—I won’t let it go unsaid. I’ve been wanting to tell you,” he added hurriedly, as if he needed to get the words off his chest before he lost his momentum. “It’s been so hard; I, I must have seemed so distant, I’m so—I just, I kept texting it, I kept dialing to, to tell you, but this is better. Seeing you, telling you in person; this is better.”

Tony stared at him, unblinking. 

He would have been less surprised if Steve had asked him for a kidney. 

“I thought,” he started to say, but quickly had to clear his throat before he lost it entirely. “I thought you were going to break up with me.”

Steve’s expression went slack for a moment—one staggering, uncomfortable heartbeat—before he came back to Tony and shook his head, slowly. “I should have been better—I was a coward—”

“—Hey, hey, no,” Tony rushed to interrupt him, sitting up from his comfortable slouch against Steve’s side so he could face him. “Steve, those are—a coward wouldn’t… those are terrifying words. If you mean them.”

“For two months, I’ve shared my life with you,” Steve answered, a thoughtful smile on his face, as if thinking of a cherished memory. “Waking up with you, getting ready for the day—arguing over dinner, rock paper scissors for a movie—”

“—you always cheat.”

“—I always win,” Steve countered with some innocent batting of his eyelashes, and Tony snorted at his stupid face, face-planting into Steve’s chest to hide his giant smile. Slowly, gently, Steve combed his fingers through Tony’s hair, only letting him slip away when Tony sat up to give him his full attention again. “One week without you, Tony, and… I mean, I can do it, sure,” he shrugged half-heartedly, “but it feels rote... stagnant. And maybe it’s friendship; maybe it’s hero worship or lust or awe or, or some kind of misguided need to be there for you, to be with you, to share everything with you, but I just—I, I… it’s all of it. All of it, and more—every day there’s more, and, what time we have—”

Tony frowned at his odd choice of phrase, and as much as he wanted to listen, he couldn’t stop himself from interrupting. “Why do you—that’s the second time you’ve said that, Steve. What do you mean, what time we have? Are we on a timeline or something?” Then, before Steve had had a chance to answer him, the answer dawned on him. 

“Is that what Hammer said to you?”

“He,” Steve started to say, but he seemed too caught off-guard to come up with a way to deflect Tony’s question. So, instead he shrugged and said, “Less politely, but yes.”

“Did you believe him?”

“Not really,” Steve admitted, “but he wasn’t wrong. What he was trying to tell me was ignorant and untrue, but I thought about what he said.”

Even as he leaned in closer and took one of Steve’s hands in his own, Tony scowled. “He doesn’t deserve it.”

“But you deserve honesty,” Steve insisted, closing his hand around Tony’s and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I love you, Tony. I don’t—tomorrow, next week, or ten years from now, I don’t want you to ever have to wonder how I feel about you. I don’t want it to be unsaid.”

“Christ, you,” Tony blurted out at first, stunned, but he managed to bite down on his lip and stop himself before he got too far. He cleared his throat and tried again, this time in a voice he hoped was both seductive and persuasive. “Steve, babe,” he said softly, playing with fire by reaching to unbuckle his seatbelt and climbing into Steve’s lap. “How about you show me how much you missed me instead?” 

***

_Later that night_

**Steve**

“This is terrible,” Steve moaned, his voice husky with contentment. His head was comfortably cradled in the plush pillow draped over the stone ledge of the jacuzzi, and with lazy, languid movements he stretched to adjust his position in the relaxing massage jets. Being able to stretch out in a tub without having to somehow fold his legs was an unexpected luxury, and he delighted in how his toes couldn’t touch the other side even when he tried. 

The suite Tony had arranged for them was, in some ways, an open floor plan. All the rooms boasted floor-to-ceiling windows, offering an uninterrupted view of Seoul’s dramatic skyline. Most importantly, however, was the steam room. A third of the four-hundred square room was dedicated to an oversized granite bath, a rain shower, a spa jacuzzi, and a stone massage table. The glass walls that separated the steam room from the rest of the suite left nothing to the imagination, and with Tony still unpacking, Steve had left both doors open so that they could keep talking without interrupting his spa date with himself. 

“How am I supposed to leave this next week?” Steve continued complaining, and from somewhere in the bedroom, he heard Tony snicker. “Don’t laugh, Tony! I want to live in this tub.”

Not long after that, Steve heard the gentle _snick_ of the glass doors being closed as Tony joined him in the steam room. Steve opened his eyes to see him, and shamelessly moaned at the vision Tony made in a beautiful red and gold silk kimono. 

“Nooo,” he whined instead of saying hello, and Tony’s smile stretched into a grin. 

“Another scotch?”

Steve eyed the two tumblers Tony was carrying with interest, and he soon nodded in the affirmative. “Please. But,” he added, “you have to get in first.”

“I haven’t showered yet,” Tony reminded him, but Steve only shook his head and scooted farther to the center of the tub. 

“I’ll do it,” Steve promised around his heavy tongue, “come in.”

There were no arguments out of Tony after that. He waited for Steve to sit up in the jacuzzi before setting the drinks down next to Steve’s empty glass, then set his toiletries on the wide ledge of the tub, and climbed up. The hem of the lightweight silk floated in the water, and with every step Tony took farther into the pool, the kimono lifted and parted, revealing increasingly more skin. 

From his seat of honor, Steve groaned his profound appreciation, and he reached out an eager hand to encourage Tony to come closer faster. “Damn, Tony,” Steve moaned softly, almost muffled by the sound of the jacuzzi jets. “You so smexy.”

Tony stopped right in his tracks. 

“Steve. I’m forty-four years old.”

“I don’t care,” Steve said with a small pout, “it’s totally a word, and you are damn smexy.”

Then, with a sudden burst of speed and precision that should have been beyond his current capacity, Steve lunged for Tony and, with his full weight behind the tackle, Steve submerged them both with a resounding splash.

“Steve!” Tony croaked as soon as he broke the surface, and he quickly scraped water off his face. “Christ—are you drunk?”

“No-pe,” Steve denied in a sing-song voice, and grinned proudly, but then his expression quickly turned sheepish and he shuffled back through the water to where he’d been sitting earlier. “ _Maybe_... okay, I didn’t realize how hot it was here—”

Tony cursed under his breath and got to his feet before Steve finished talking. He tossed the kimono aside, then grabbed each of Steve’s hands and hauled him up to his feet. 

“Babe, I think it’s time we get you out of the steam room,” he said slowly, patiently leading Steve up the stone steps out of the jacuzzi; on the way down, he got his arm around Steve’s waist, but they took the steps so slowly that Steve managed it without wobbling too much. 

Slowly but surely, Tony walked them into the shower, and he sat Steve down on the stone bench. Confident that Steve would be safe under the more temperate cool spray of the rain shower, he walked out at a brisk pace to open the doors into the rest of the suite, letting the steam out. 

Steve pouted inwardly to see him go, and the moment Tony came back he reached for him again, pulling him close by the hips until he could wrap his arms around Tony’s body, his forearms greedily clutched against Tony’s rear. 

“Your ass is so perky,” Steve felt the need to tell him, though he was a little distracted trying to chase the shower water flowing down over Tony’s hips with quick little kisses. “So beautiful. So _firm_.”

“You think so?” Tony asked as something of an afterthought, more preoccupied with turning the shower temperature down a little further until it was pleasantly cool. Using the toiletries provided by the hotel, he lathered up a small towel and soon started to scrub the washcloth across Steve’s shoulders. 

At the first firm sweep of Tony’s hand, Steve purred in delight and slumped forward without warning, trusting Tony to support most of his upper-body weight. There was a stumble and a quick shuffle of feet, but Tony managed to remain upright. He continued washing Steve’s neck, his broad shoulders, and all the way down his back, before having to kneel down. He pushed Steve back against the glass wall of the shower and knelt between his knees to wash his front. 

“You think that’s a harpoon in my lap, or am I just really happy to see you?” Steve drawled, and Tony choked on air in his surprise. “I _missed you_.”

Tony whimpered with the effort not to laugh, and even under the cool water his face was turning red. “Babe,” he whispered, breathless, “you are never going to live this down.”

“I don't want to live it down, I want to live it _up! _” Steve insisted, and he was going to make a really good point, he really was, except Tony slowed his hand while washing his chest when he reached Steve's pierced nipple. Slowly, he scrubbed over it a few more times—enough so, that Steve could barely remember where he was, let alone his argument.__

__“Behave,” Tony told him in a lowered voice, moving on and making his way down Steve's torso to his hips. “Steve, babe, let’s first get you out of here, drink some water and let you cool down. It won't take long.”_ _

__“But neither will I! I promise,” Steve swore, a small whimper slipping into his voice when Tony bypassed his straining erection and moved on to wash his thighs instead. “I lasted longer when I was a virgin than when I'm drunk.”_ _

__Tony paused in the middle of washing Steve’s feet and stared up at him. “How upset would you be if I recorded you?” he wondered, “you know, for posterity.”_ _

__“Oh, no, no, we shouldn't,” Steve whispered with such a sudden urgency that Tony sat up to listen to him. “Listen, listen I've thought about it, especially—especially when you ride my dick, it’s—damn, Tony, do you even know? You're so hot. But what if someone steals it? I'd be pissed! I'm not sharing that with anyone.”_ _

__“No, b—Steve, honey, sweetheart, sugarnips, listen to me,” Tony struggled to say in a calm, steady voice, “stand up, let me finish, and we’ll be out of here in a minute, okay?”_ _

__“Okay,” Steve promised, because Tony’s argument seemed reasonable. “Okay,” he said again, and this time he took Tony’s offered hands and rose to his feet._ _

__Tony turned him around slowly, taking care not to unbalance him, until Steve faced away from him and could brace himself against the glass wall beside the shower door. The glass was so cool under his touch, and god, how good did that feel right now? As Tony resumed washing Steve’s back, Steve leaned forward, pressing his body and his weight against the clear surface, moaning softly at the dual sensation of Tony’s gentle, firm hands and the cool glass against his skin._ _

__When Tony’s hand reached the curve of his ass, he gasped in surprise, a sharp inhale of breath as his whole body jerked in instinctive reaction. His hips thrust forward in a desperate need for friction, but there was nothing for him to grind against but the smooth glass._ _

__“Please,” he whimpered, and even pleasantly muzzy and tingling, he recognized how pitiful he sounded begging. Tony had asked him to be patient, had said they were just trying to get out of the shower all the faster—distantly, he understood why the heat was bad for him right now, why that scotch felt like five—but all rational thought was pushed to the backseat as he sighed Tony’s name with every breath, shifted his legs further apart and rose up on the balls of his feet._ _

__Tony’s hand paused on the outside of Steve’s thigh, and Steve could’ve cried from joy. There _was_ a god, Tony _was_ considering it, Christ—_ _

__Steve’s body trembled in anticipation, and it was all he could do to keep his hips from thrusting in his desperation._ _

__“ _Yesssss!_ God, _yes_ , please Tony—touch me,” he pled, breathless, his fingers curling into helpless fists against the glass where he tried to brace himself. “Please—touch me, anything, _please_ , don’t tease Tony, can’t— _ah!_ Please, please Tony, don’t tease me—” _ _

__His words died in his throat and instead he cried out in pain as Tony’s hand closed around his balls and squeezed them tight, rolling them in his hands with a firm touch that left Steve gasping on the junction of throbbing pain and overload of pleasure; when Tony stepped closer and wrapped his free hand around the head of Steve’s cock, it took no more than two aggressive twists of his hand to bring Steve off._ _

__Steve came with a silent shout, his body seizing with a sudden tension. He clawed at the glass wall in an uncoordinated and rather feeble, flailing attempt at holding himself up, but there was no ledge or handle where his fingers could find purchase, and almost as quickly as he had come, his legs gave out, his knees buckled, and gravity took over._ _

__In a valiant effort to keep all slippery 240 pounds of him upright, Tony folded to the floor on his knees beside Steve, managing only to control their fall enough so that they settled sitting upright as opposed to falling face-first into the tiles._ _

__“Steve? Babe?” Tony said softly, turning Steve so his back was to the glass, and gently wiped at Steve’s cheek to make sure the come he’d collected from the glass wall on his way down washed away under the spray of the shower. “How do you feel?”_ _

__“I love you,” Steve slurred in a sing-song voice, his face split in a sleepy, shit-eating grin. “ _That_. Was. Bananas,” he promised, emphatic, then with a big yawn, added, “‘nd, sleeep...”_ _

__***_ _

__The next morning, Steve woke up in heaven. His body was wrapped in the softest white clouds, and the sun was up without overwhelming them with light, and he felt loose and happy in ways he hadn’t felt in weeks. He stretched luxuriously in the unfamiliar but gratifying sheets, and when he turned over, he saw the bedhead of the man he’d been missing for too long._ _

__“Tony?” he whispered, and when Tony didn’t stir, Steve crawled closer._ _

__Sure enough, it was his Tony: his Tony, who had come all the way to Seoul so that they could tell their colleagues and peers they were together. Steve knew, rationally, that Tony had had a long flight and deserved to rest, but he was too excited to care. As a compromise, he settled down carefully and watched Tony as he slept. Tony’s hair swept around his head in an irresistible whirlwind, and the slight parting of his lips already had Steve's pulse racing._ _

__“I can hear you thinking,” Tony mumbled, but Steve only grinned at the accusation._ _

__“I won’t apologize for sanity,” Steve told him, but now that Tony was awake, he invited himself to reach out and run his fingers through Tony’s hair, enjoying the soft, silky feel of his hair as opposed to purposefully combing it into submission._ _

__Tony huffed in what might have been a sleepy snort, and in a voice that was suspiciously neutral, he asked, “How about apologizing for last night?”_ _

__“Are you referring to our super hot shower?” Steve wondered, lowering his voice to a deep, seductive whisper. “Babe, if you think I’m apologizing for the prime exhibit in my spank bank for the next month, you—”_ _

__“ _No_ ,” Tony drawled without yet opening his eyes. “I’m referring to what happened after the shower. Don’t you remember?”_ _

__Steve’s brows knitted together in a confused frown. For all that he tried to remember how the night had ended, he couldn’t. How bad could it have gotten? He slept—how much trouble could he have gotten into if he was asleep?_ _

__“You passed out in the shower,” Tony told him. “Like a sack of bricks. A slippery, uncooperative, sack of bricks.”_ _

__“Bullshit,” Steve accused immediately with a frown, unimpressed. He knew Tony was strong, but to carry 240 pounds from the shower, through the living room, the dining room, the office, and the kitchen before reaching the bedroom?_ _

__“Tell me you’re joking, Tony,” Steve continued, growing more concerned the more he thought about it. “You can’t be serious.”_ _

__“Deny it all you want, Rogers,” Tony muttered, and finally he opened his eyes to give Steve a flat look._ _

__Steve recoiled at the use of his last name, and he stared down at Tony in shock. Had Tony carried him to bed and hurt himself in the process, was that why he was upset? Had Steve been so out of it that he embarrassed himself by asking Tony the question he had no business asking him after only two months of dating? Had he—_ _

__Without explanation, Tony burst out laughing._ _

__“Your face,” he wheezed, laughing too hard to breathe, and he tried to pull the covers over his head to get a barrier between them before Steve realized he’d been had._ _

__“Tony!” Steve cried, pulling at the duvet in an attempt to dig the man out from his plush nest. “You asshole, you scared me! I thought I had—had—”_ _

__“You looked so _concerned_ ,” Tony crowed, and Steve smacked Tony’s turned back with a pillow. “Ow! Respect your elders!”_ _

__“—that I had hurt you, Tony!” Steve finished, though it was becoming more difficult to stay angry about it the more Tony snickered in his delight._ _

__“Ow—you’re hurting me now!” Tony whined, and got one last smack on the ass before Steve relented and sat back on his haunches._ _

__“So,” Steve said and hugged his trusty pillow weapon, a little out of breath. “You—you’re okay?”_ _

__Tony turned over on his back to look up at Steve with a beaming smile, indulging in a sensual stretch under Steve’s watchful eyes. “Don’t know, babe,” he murmured, “wanna check?”_ _

__“That depends,” Steve tried to affect indifference, but he stretched out on his stomach across the mattress, inching ever closer to kiss Tony’s flank. “Did I really pass out?”_ _

__A broad grin spread across Tony’s face again, barely resisting a laugh. “You really did,” he said, “and when I tried to wake you up after my shower, you kept telling me nobody could share your sprinkles but Powers Boothe.”_ _

__There was really nothing Steve could say to that._ _

__“So, uh. How did you get me into bed?”_ _

__“We made a deal,” Tony admitted, then after a brief, dramatic pause explained: “If you helped walk to bed, I promised that I wouldn’t put any clothes on.”_ _

__Steve bit his lip to stifle an appreciative moan, and distantly he thanked his past drunk self for such excellent negotiation standards._ _

__“Your sacrifice means very much to me,” he confessed, and with some careful shuffling and maneuvering, Steve slid back under the blanket, slowly following the long line of Tony’s body all the way down._ _

__“How much is very much?” Tony smirked down at him until Steve’s head slipped out of sight under the covers. Steve continued to gauge his downward progress by brushing chaste kisses over Tony’s body; ever the obliging partner, Tony laid back and let his body fall open to accommodate Steve’s breadth._ _

__When Steve next opened his mouth to answer him, he did so without the need for any words._ _

__***_ _

____

_Friday, Aug. 25 2017_

The minute he could, Steve took Tony’s hand and ran. Tony followed his lead, obliging but laughing in his surprise, dashing around tables and mingling strangers—past happy peers, his fellow nominees, and the deserving winner—until they made it out of the KINTEX Convention Center. 

Steve spun in his new, slippery shoes, and what he had intended as a romantic sweeping hug became a stuttering grasp as they clung to each other to try and stay upright.

“Should I be worried?” Tony teased, dropping his arms from somewhere around Steve’s shoulders to somewhere around his waist in a gentle embrace. “Mr. It takes more than a few shots to get me drunk?”

High on adrenaline, joy, and relief, Steve cracked up, beaming at Tony with an adoring smile. “You’re never letting that go, are you?” he eventually asked, grinning at the inclusion of ‘never.’ 

Tony snorted at the absurdity of Steve’s question, but all the same he reached up to gently brush some hair away from Steve’s face. “Not until I get some footage of college-age you taking tests drunk,” he replied, surprisingly matter of fact. “Bonus points if your professor was hot.”

“I’ve only had two glasses of wine, Tony,” Steve promised, and he reached up to take Tony’s hand in his own, bringing it to his lips to brush a soft kiss across Tony’s knuckles. “I wouldn’t risk missing a single moment tonight. Being here, with you—as my _date_ —I don’t even care about the guy with the teeth—” 

“—babe, he wasn’t actually threatening you; Erik is more bark than bite—”

“—did you not see what I saw? One bite would be enough. But, even with sharkface in attendance, it’s… I wouldn’t trade any of this for the world. I still can’t believe that I’m here, with _you_. Hell, I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you,” he added almost as a thought to himself, then suddenly laughed at the irony. “You meant so much to me, before I met you. And now, you mean more—so much more.”

“You’re giving me too much credit,” Tony told him. “This isn’t a one way street.”

“No, but—”

“No buts, Steve,” Tony spoke over him, not letting him entertain that objection for too long. “I mean it. The way you treat people, you’re… you didn’t have to take Jane to Toronto to sit in the Captain’s chair. And I know why you’re working with the city on the capitol’s renovations. Not many people would have done that, Steve, not in my experience.”

“That’s not fair, I would have done anything else if I knew—”

“Would you have waited until the next morning?”

“Of course not,” Steve answered honestly, and Tony smiled up at him as if Steve had made his point for him. 

“Of course not,” Tony echoed with a quiet laugh, like those were words to admire. “I wish you could hear yourself sometimes, just so you could see what I see. I love you, Steve.” 

Steve wasn’t sure when he stopped staring and when he kissed Tony’s laughing lips silent, but when they eventually parted, his whole world narrowed down to Tony’s adoring smile. If this was a dream, it was the best dream he had ever had; and he knew he shouldn’t question it, he knew he shouldn’t tempt fate, but he couldn’t understand, and if there was anything he wanted to be sure he had heard right, those three words were it. 

“You, me,” he tried, but hampered by disbelief, he got through his question in three slow, stuttering words. “Really?” 

Tony’s smile only grew wider, threatening to become a laugh, but instead he shook his head. “Because you haven’t stopped smiling at me since we left the hotel. Because I’ve never seen a man so happy to _not_ win. Because when you asked me to come with you to this event three weeks ago, you were more worked up about me than the award. And when I agreed to be your date, you looked at me like you had already won. I’ve loved you since that night, and I will love you tomorrow, next week, or ten years from now, because when I'm with you, when you look at me, I never have to wonder how you feel about me. I love the way you love me, Steve. I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who stuck with this little story! I hope you enjoyed it!! I almost can't believe it's over. If you ever feel like a Stony chat, [I'm on Tumblr (as shetlandowl)](http://shetlandowl.tumblr.com/) more often than I should be.
> 
> Two quick but important things:  
> (1) [Clobeast](clobeast.tumblr.com) made the [gorgeous art](https://68.media.tumblr.com/8cfaaa13112f506d2f800ec7c12f9989/tumblr_orcqqz1UVZ1s8ys3zo4_r1_1280.jpg) as part of the STH charity auction, and I can't stop flailing about it. Sometimes, it was what kept me going.  
> (2) The FB post is inspired by something a friend shared, I can't take credit for that genius level cheek.


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